“If you point a gun, you had better be prepared to use it.” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Copyright

“If you point a gun, you had better be prepared to use it.”

With unblinking eyes, he stood erect. Hands on his hips. Legs apart.

Sabrina held his gaze and knew his rigid stance was a dare.

Aiming the pistol to the right of Kenilworth, she pointed at a lone birch. “Don’t move, milord.” As she lowered the hammer, his body stiffened. “Now, look to your left. Should I try for the left or the right branch?”

“To your right. It’s farthest from me.”

Gritting her teeth, she focused and fired. Wood crackled and snapped. Birds squawked. She smiled, feeling an odd satisfaction. Somehow, the act replaced the dignity Kenilworth had stolen.

“Luck,” Kenilworth murmured, eyeing the severed branch.

Feeling the challenge in his single word, her blood started to hum. She shifted her gaze to just below his waist and adjusted her aim.

“If that’s where you want to shoot me, go ahead...!”

Dear Reader,

Entertainment. Escape. Fantasy. These three words describe the heart of Harlequin Historical novels. If you want compelling, emotional stories by some of the best writers in the field, look no further.

We think Janet Kendall is one of the best new writers in the field. Her debut book, Hunter of My Heart, is a captivating tale set in Regency England. Here, the heroine’s powerful and dangerous grandfather is so desperate for an heir that he’ll stop at nothing to get one, namely forcing a marriage between his granddaughter and the mysterious duke of Kenilworth. But when their unexpected passion turns to love and trust, they triumph in the end!

Maggie and the Maverick is a heartwarming new Western by Laurie Grant. With the help of newswoman Maggie Harper, Garrick Devlin, wounded in the Civil War, finally learns to love again. And don’t miss Cassandra Austin’s The Unlikely Wife, the story of a handsome officer who falls for his commander’s flirty daughter during a journey to an army fort

Rounding out the month is The Welshman’s Bride by award-winning author Margaret Moore. Forced to marry after being caught in a compromising position, a roguish Welsh nobleman and a demure chatelaine learn to appreciate their differences and fall in love.

Whatever your tastes in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historical® novel.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont., L2A 5X3

Hunter of my Heart

Janet Kendall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JANET KENDALL graduated with a bachelor’s degree in sociology from the University of Colorado and worked there as a personnel counselor.

She was born and raised in Durango, Colorado. With not a lot to do in a small mining and tourist town, cowboys, eastern gents and Native Americans stirred her imagination. They became heroes. This, coupled with a Texan husband and a mother-in-law whose family is from England, fueled her love of history more. So she began to write in her favorite genre. Romance. When she’s not writing, reading romances, or doing research, she tends her other passion, her flower garden and rare orchid collection.

She and her husband live in the Chicago suburbs. Janet would love to hear from her readers. Please write to her at: P.O. Box 3003, Naperville, Illinois 60565.

To my loving husband, who believed in me and

supported my writing from the first day. To my mom and dad, the best parents a child could have.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Jean Newlin and Laura Renken for their thoughtful

critiques as I was writing the final version of this book.

To the best den mothers in the world:

Susan Elizabeth Phillips, whose advice challenges me as

a writer, Cathie Linz, who taught me to persevere and the

real meaning of “creative,” and to Jimmie Morel writing

as Lindsay Longford, whose keen sense of direction

kept me on the right path.

Finally to my editor, Margaret O’Neill Marbury,

who took the chance.

I thank you all.

Prologue

London, March 1825

The unmistakable smell of sweat and passion greeted Hunter Sinclair as he opened the door.

The butler had been right. Hunter’s father wasn’t alone and thus had broken his word. To witness the infidelity would give Hunter proof and another reason to sever their bargain.

Silently he entered the bedchamber and picked up a robe, his hands crushing the velvet fibers. Groans, muted by the satin hangings surrounding the bed, made his stomach turn. Drawing a quiet breath, Hunter parted the drapes and dropped the robe onto the lovers. “The study in two minutes,” he said flatly.

The young woman gasped.

As his father rolled off the lithe body, he pulled a sheet over the woman’s naked form. He gave Hunter an unrepentant smile. “You show yourself at the most untimely moments.”

“No. I believe I arrived just in time,” he said, and left.

A few moments later, Hunter entered the study his mother had lovingly decorated years ago. From the ebony cellaret, he poured himself a drink. He settled in a chair and propped his feet on a gilded table, then lifted the crystal goblet to his mouth. Before he took a sip, the heady bouquet told Hunter the pale amber liquid was cognac—but then his father always demanded the best.

As Hunter took a huge swallow, the smooth liquid scorched a trail down to his stomach and settled in a hot pool. Since his mother’s death last week, nothing had erased the pain curled around his chest. Hunter downed the cognac to seek warmth, but the burning quickly died. When he started to fetch another drink, he stopped. No. He wanted to feel cold and without heart when he confronted his father, Randall Sinclair, Baron of Wick. That’s exactly how the baron had treated his wife during their years of marriage. Randall had merely coveted the luxury her family’s wealth provided. Long ago, he had emptied his own coffer on extravagant comforts and mistresses.

In exchange for keeping his affairs discreet, Randall had demanded a huge allowance from Hunter, who had agreed in hopes of protecting his mother from more shame. But now the time had come to end his father’s unscrupulous life-style. By seducing a lady in their family home, his father had gone too far—he had severed the agreement. Furthermore, Hunter no longer had to shield his mother in life, only preserve her honor in death.

Leather slippers brushed the study’s Oriental carpet and Hunter met his father’s arrogant green gaze. An ageless panther, Randall looked ten years younger than his forty-eight years. Women found him irresistibly attractive. Of course the “Sinner,” as the ton called him, took every advantage of his good looks.

“Stalked another one?” Hunter’s tone was very dry.

“Are you referring to the talented lady upstairs? I have a voracious appetite.” Smiling arrogantly, Randall sat and smoothed his robe’s velvet collar.

Hunter steeled himself. “Aren’t you curious about my arrival?”

“I thought you were out of the country managing one of your business enterprises. So why are you here?”

“Your wife, sir, is dead.” He managed an even voice but his throat tightened. Rising, he removed his greatcoat and unveiled the mourning band tied around his arm. He waited for his father’s reaction.

Randall stared at him. “I do not believe you. Your mother is as strong as a man.”

“She died five days’ past.”

Would his father ask for details about the quick funeral? Did he feel a shadow of remorse? Did he care how she died?

“I am a widower?” A trace of concern crossed his face.

Suddenly Hunter realized Randall’s problem. “Marriage no longer protects you. Worried about an angry father marching you off to the preacher?”

“I will manage. Mourning serves as an excuse not to remarry for at least a year.”

He gave his father a lean smile. “Still, I’ve decided to cut your allowance. Paying for the upkeep of this house, food and a reasonable amount of clothing is all you’ll see of my money. With Mother’s death, our agreement ends.”

Randall gripped the chair’s arms. “The devil you will. I haven’t an income, while you’re wealthy as Croesus!”

“You’re in mourning. What good is money? Attending quiet affairs is all society will permit you.” Hunter untied the silk strip. As he dropped it onto his father’s lap, he felt a sense of morbid satisfaction that he could finally give Randall his due.

His father gave the mourning band a fleeting glance. “You will continue to pay the sum upon which we agreed,” he demanded. Pausing, he gave Hunter a nefarious look. “You look like me. Tall. Well muscled. Handsome. Undoubtedly virile. You have my green eyes and black hair...remember Diana?”

Every muscle in Hunter’s body tensed, rejecting the foul memories of that tragedy, but he managed a look of indifference. From experience, he knew his father had some scheme in mind. “What about Diana? You left her carrying your child. I should have let her father call you out”

“Like a good son, you did not reveal the truth. Once I announced your engagement to her, I thought you would honor it. Diana and I thought the idea brilliant. Ah—but you could not summon the chivalry to marry her. You surprised me by preferring a scandal to marriage. In the end, she took her life. I did not have to fight a duel and you are still a bachelor. Does your conscience have room to carry more guilt?”

Hunter clenched his jaw. He had refused to comply with his father’s scheme and offered Diana some money—but not his name. When she ended her life and that of her unborn child, Hunter held himself accountable for the deaths.

He eyed his father warily. “What have you done now? Have you ruined another lady’s life?”

“Nothing. I have satisfied the hunger of a few ladies, but no woman is bearing my child.”

“Then why bring up the past?”

“Well, you may have refused to marry Diana...but unless you continue the payments, you will be married within the month. After all, you are twenty-seven and should have a bride.”

“Married?” Hunter repeated in a low voice. “I don’t plan to marry.” After witnessing the faithless wives and brainless innocents who had succumbed to his father’s seductions, Hunter never wanted to marry. His fingers tightened around his glass as he walked to the cellaret and poured himself another drink.

“Would you like me to pass myself off as you? A little silver nitrate in my hair would hide the gray. In dim light, a lady would easily mistake me for you. I might even allow you to pick your bride. Bedding an innocent is a delicious thought, and afterward, you would have to offer the lady your name. She would believe that you seduced her. I would make sure of it.”

Simmering blood tangled with his grief, but he presented an unaffected facade. “Is that a threat?”

“Would you care to put it to the test?” Randall gave him a smug smile.

Hunter knew the baron’s heart proved as empty as his coffers and would do anything to continue his lavish and decadent existence. A thread of control drew Hunter’s emotions taut and he sipped the cognac that numbed his conscience. His father’s threat was nothing short of blackmail.

No more blackmail, Hunter decided, no more payments. Could he allow Randall to ruin other lives and not stop him? With bleak choices, Hunter settled on a plan. Moral justice counted for something.

“You win. I have money on my ship so come with me now. Tell the lady my coachman will drive her home.”

Randall inclined his head in acquiescence.

As they neared London Docks, the stench of the Thames grew, smelling of human waste and rotting fish. Hunter peered out the window of the hackney toward the warehouses. Beyond them, hundreds of masts and fluttering sails rose above the roofs. Fading slashes of violet and orange on the horizon signaled fair sailing weather. On the poop rail of his ship Priscilla, four lanterns created oblique shadows that moved with the water and changed with the wind.

Sailors waiting the next watch rose from their hammocks while others were busy at their duties. Hunter spoke with the ship captain, then returned to his father.

“The money is in my cabin below. Shall we?”

Hunter showed Randall to a small cabin with two narrow bunks, one above the other. A sea chest filled the opposite corner. Atop a small table sat a ditty box, a copper bowl and an oil lamp. Tucked underneath was a chamber pot and stool After Randall entered, Hunter leaned against the doorway.

“This is your cabin?” Randall asked. “I imagined it to be bigger, given the ship’s size.”

“Oh, it is. My cabin’s much larger. This one’s yours.” Hunter felt the ship sway.

Randall swung around. “What the devil are you saying?”

The sails unfurled like the sound of dull drumbeats. “I promised you a home, food and clothes. You will get all three—in Australia.” As Hunter stepped back into the hall, he pulled the door closed and locked it.

“Damn you!” Randall pounded on the door. “I’m your father!”

Father, hell...only by the misfortune of the same blood.

The rhythmic sound of the waves slapping against the hull drowned the voice.

No more scandals. Hunter promised himself that no one would ever blackmail him again.

Chapter One

Scotland, September 1830

“Shabby reporting! The Times said you’d be here! Why aren’t you?” As Sabrina’s words faded into the wind, she looked up and saw no lights in the second-story windows, or the third, either.

Keir Castle’s four towers rose above the mist, a billowing white gauze that occasionally dipped and caressed the ground. Moss and shadows painted the stone structure. A seagull flew overhead. Slowly Sabrina “Beaumont” dropped her gaze. Interrupting this solitude was the light coming from the kitchen windows, the only evidence of life stirring on the massive estate.

The kind housekeeper, a lone servant, had answered the door but didn’t know when her master would arrive. Slapping the stone wall, Sabrina willed Lord Kenilworth to appear.

“Everyone is speaking about his return from Barbados. Rumor says he distrusts strangers,” Marga Beaumont said.

Turning to her aunt, Sabrina made a face.

“Do you think we have committed a faux pas by not sending word? Maybe he instructed the housekeeper to turn away visitors.”

“She looked honest. Faux pas or not, we’ve waited months to collect the debt. The Times portrayed him as fair and honest. Surely he’ll understand our lack of propriety. The man the newspapers described wouldn’t allow us to go to the poorhouse.” Despite her hopeful words, his absence weighted her heart. The Times was quickly losing credibility.

“Possibly he is with a paramour, non?”

“Paramours.” Sabrina scowled to hide her emotions from Marga, a petite lady of thirty-eight years who still managed to look fashionable despite their dire financial circumstances. Her moss-green traveling gown accented her hazel eyes and chestnut hair, coifed in artful curls above her ears. Marga always took pride in her grooming. Her fashion sense and creativity had made the partnership in their dress shop possible.

Marga cleared her throat. “The on dit on him varies. Some say he is unlike his father. The newspaper says he’s been in Barbados. At least monseigneur supported the paramours during his absence. I feel certain he will pay us.”

Caring little for gossip, Sabrina jabbed a finger to her chest. “We supported his mistresses! He owes us money for their gowns!”

Marga sighed. “Quaintly put, but true.”

With her emotions running rampant, Sabrina leaned against the structure and ignored the stones pressing into her back. “I apologize for raising my voice. Yes, I do believe he’ll pay us once he realizes a debt exists. I’m just worried about the twins.” She paused, thinking about her four-year-old siblings. “Do you think they’re all right?”

“Ha! Christine never lets her brother out of sight, and you know how mad Alec gets when we pamper him. He is weak in body but strong in spirit. They will be fine with Thomas for another few days.” Marga squeezed Sabrina’s hand.

She managed a smile. “Father was lucky to have Thomas as a friend. He’s gone beyond friendship to watch them. But we’ve never left them alone for so long. What if...”

“Ah! You are thinking about more than just the little one’s health. Oui? That wretched man, your grandpapa, worries you. Rest assured, Sabrina, no one will discover our secret.”

“I can’t help it. He’s probably furious that I didn’t meet with him three days ago.” Instead, she’d burned his missive and fled to Scotland.

“Oui. He is probably searching for you all over London.”

“There! You see? What if he followed us? And, you’re not the one he wants for a brooding mare.” She groaned, knowing she was his last chance for a male heir. With political reform stirring, he loathed the idea that upon his death, the Crown would sell his title. God forbid that a wealthy commoner might buy it. Her only solution was to reveal Alec.

She refused to do that for fear he would separate the twins. Christine would be of no use to him. By alienating Alec from the only family he knew, the duke would harm him emotionally. Christina, too. Her sister was healthy though, whereas Alec, in a fit of anger or tears, could easily provoke an asthma attack. He could die.

After giving Sabrina a thoughtful look, Marga wandered to the nearby herb garden. “The world believes Alec and Christine are mine. Our purpose is to shield them. You are old enough to give your grandpapa a good fight. The twins are not.”

Guilt accompanied Marga’s mild scolding. Her aunt had agreed to the deceit when Sabrina conceived the idea. “My apologies. Yes, you’re right. In a few months, I’ll reach my majority. He’ll have no control over me. Won’t that be a joy?”

The thought brought a measure of relief, but fear lay coiled in her stomach. Sabrina had lived in dread that her grandfather would discover her whereabouts. Now he had.

“If we do not meet again, you must do everything possible to insure the twins’ safety,” her mother had pleaded.

Sabrina’s throat thickened at the recollection and of her vow. After learning from her parents what her grandfather had done to them, she never wanted to meet or claim him as kin.

“Marga? Aren’t you afraid he’ll discover you worked for Queen Josephine, too? What would I do without you if he...”

“Accused me of being a French spy like he did your mother?” Marga let out a wry chuckle. “The war was fresh in people’s minds then. Too much time has passed. I was just the queen’s couturiere, an assistant. What can the authorities do now? Browbeat me until I reveal the queen’s measurements?”

“How can you jest? He could accuse you of instigating the deception. Of kidnapping his heir! I can’t bear the thought of you in jail, or God forbid, hung. Or the nightmares the children will suffer if he rips them from the only mother they know.”

Marga’s olive skin paled but she raised her chin. “I considered all those things before I agreed, but I had to take the chance. ff we remain mum, he will not learn anything.”

“Mother was innocent, too. Yet he caused enough ruckus to make the authorities believe she was a spy.” Sabrina breathed deeply. “We’ll get our money and then take the twins someplace safe.”

The duke had somehow found her, and that brought him one step closer to Alec. Lord. She wished her brother’s health was better. Living in the shadows had left her stomach permanently knotted.

Every Sunday for the past four years, the Times last page had contained a small paragraph, one with nothing to identify the advertisement’s owner. Three facts identified her and she had discounted coincidence long ago. Still searching for Derek’s daughter Sabrina, now twenty. She guessed the notice would no longer appear now that he’d found her.

Drawing a cleansing breath, Sabrina smelled the ripeness of the herbs intensified by the sea air. Tears threatened and she summoned the same courage she had relied on since her parents’ death four years earlier. She buried the dark thoughts and focused on the immediate problem. Opening her reticule, she pulled out her father’s pocket watch. Four-thirty.

“It looks like rain. We’ll wait several more minutes to see if Kenilworth arrives.”

Marga smiled, kindness warming her eyes. “Patience, ma chérie. In a few days, we will return to the little ones. This business, fini! Thomas will give us shelter until we make other plans. He need not know the truth about the debt or why we closed the shop.”

Sabrina latched onto Marga’s optimistic words. For months, Kenilworth was just a name, but a week past, the Times featured an article on him. The newspaper described him as a man intent on helping the populace and reforming the government. Surely, the Times couldn’t be wrong about everything.

A neighing horse and rumbling of a wagon jarred her thoughts. She spun toward the sound. In the distance, the Scottish mist obstructed her view as it meandered over a browning heather field. A breeze divided the fog and revealed a rider beside the loaded wagon. “That must be Lord Kenilworth!” Her heart drummed with expectation.

From atop his black stallion, the man spoke to the wagon’s driver and then sang a Scottish ballad of a lad marrying a lass. Laughing, the driver turned the conveyance toward the castle. The man and horse disappeared inside the stable.

Sabrina glanced at the horizon, now frosted with thunderclouds, and back to the stable. Turning, she handed Marga a small valise. “Watch for the mail coach. Ask the driver if he’ll wait for us. I must learn if that man who just arrived is Lord Kenilworth.”

Marga fumbled with their baggage. “Mon Dieu! Alone? How do you know if either is his lordship?”

“I don’t, but he looked aristocratic by the way he sat in the saddle. He looked confident! In good humor!”

Her aunt frowned. “I should accompany you.”

“I’ll be cautious. We can’t be in two places at once.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sabrina lifted the skirt of her gray wool gown and ran down the garden path. The pebbles jabbed her feet through the soles of her half boots. As the wind parted Sabrina’s cloak, the clasp dug into her throat and the brisk air stung her cheeks—but those little irritants paled to her rising hope.

After bursting into the stable, Sabrina took a steadying breath and smelled the pungent odor of moldy hay. The man’s tune drowned out her entry, and though she couldn’t see him, she followed the rich, baritone voice. Suddenly the tune stopped.

“What the devil?” Surprise laced his words.

Taking small steps, she edged closer to a stall. A pair of black-gloved hands broke her line of vision as they helped a filly stand. Sabrina craned her neck. He sat on the straw-hewn floor and stroked the black animal still wet from birth. When the foal’s hind legs wobbled, he steadied and guided her to the mare.

“You’re a surprise. What shall we call you? The marking on your head says that stallion of mine is a lusty one.” Turning, the filly tried to suckle the riding crop tucked under his arm. He laughed, a deep rumble coming from his chest. “Oh, no. You’ll get no nourishment from this thing. You want this.” Placing the crop on the floor, he gently guided the filly to the mare’s udder.

By claiming the filly, Sabrina felt certain she had found Hunter Sinclair, Earl of Kenilworth, the estate’s owner. His softly spoken words and gentle touch reinforced the newspaper’s accounting of him. Bless the Times. “Lord Kenilworth?”

Swinging around, he stared at her with wide green eyes. “Yes?”

“May I speak with you?”

His brow creased. As he stood, he picked up his riding crop and brushed the straw off his buff trousers. “If you’re looking for a position, speak to the housekeeper.”

The motion of his hand drew her gaze to his muscular thighs. Quickly she reversed her perusal. His towering height and broad shoulders, emphasized by the short cape layering his greatcoat, made him look formidable. She gripped her braid and finally pushed it over her shoulder.

From her reticule, she retrieved a folded paper and handed it to him. “I’m Sabrina Beaumont, from Maison du Beaumont of London. This bill explains everything.”

He snapped open the parchment and read. “I owe you six thousand pounds for women’s frippery? I pay my debts, Miss Beaumont, and this one isn’t mine.” Kenilworth flicked the paper between his fingers and held it beneath her chin. “Besides, the last time I wore a nightgown, I was a babe.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Her mouth parted and closed before she wrested her gaze from his well-shaped lips. “Your lordship, you or your man of business approved these expenditures. You’ve been in Barbados. Perhaps you’re unaware of this debt or didn’t receive my letters. Or forgot! I have something else.”

Digging into her reticule, she produced his promissory note. She cautiously held the paper close to her chest as he read. Unease prickled her skin. “Sir. How long does it take to absorb one line?” She slipped the evidence into her reticule.

Kenilworth’s green eyes narrowed, emphasizing the high bridge of his nose. He pointed a finger at her. “That’s a forgery. What deviousness are you plotting? Who sent you?”

With his accusations ringing in her ear, she stepped backward. “What are you talking about?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. This was not the man the Times described.

His eyes turned cold and hard. “I dislike surprises, Miss Beaumont, but welcome justice. I’ll give you one minute to tell me who concocted this alleged debt. Otherwise, I’ll take you to the authorities for trespassing, forgery and extortion.” From his waistcoat pocket, he retrieved his gold watch.

The set of his chiseled jaw conveyed no sign of compassion, but his hard look fueled her determination. “All I know is that you owe me six thousand pounds.”

“Thirty seconds.”

She considered a strategy but knew she couldn’t execute it. “If you won’t listen, I’ll take this issue to court!”

Exasperated, she turned as if to leave, but an iron grip caught her wrist. His touch made her heart jump. Still she raised her chin and pulled her arm from his hold.

Kenilworth slid his crop through his fingers. “Go ahead. Take me to court.”

His frigid timbre sent a chill down her spine, but from the ruffians she occasionally encountered on her errands, she had learned to show a tough demeanor. She glared at him. “The populace will think you made false promises. That you’re cheating a poor merchant. My accusations will taint your reputation, hurt your political aspirations.”

He whacked his thigh with the whip.

She winced.

Kenilworth pointed his riding crop toward the barrel next to her legs. “Sit and start talking. Don’t spin a tale.”

What happened to the gentle man who cooed to a newborn filly? Sabrina sat, but only because he granted her a chance to speak. “The debt is eight months old. As you saw for yourself, the note said to contact your man of business for payment. I couldn’t find him.”

“How did I accumulate such a debt?” His tone was very dry.

Shifting, she bunched her cloak in her hands. “The debt is for the gowns you allowed your three mistresses to purchase.”

“I doubt that I’d forget one mistress let alone three. You should have given your tale more thought. Right title, wrong man. Until recently, my grandfather on my mother’s side carried the title.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Sir, your family history is of no interest to me, only the money you owe me.”

“A lesson in my family history is exactly what you need. Seven months ago, my grandfather died. He was seventy-four years old, bedridden for the past two, and incapable of satisfying a mistress.”

The implications made her heart skip. “I’ve three letters of promise signed by Lord Kenilworth. You hold the tide and must honor the debt.”

He slipped the paper she had given him into his frock coat pocket, then patted it. “Evidence for extortion. I’ll not honor a debt that isn’t mine, but I’ll seek justice.”

“You’ll pay me, or I’ll...” What could she do?

“You will what?” Kenilworth tapped the whip against his palm. “So far, I could charge you with trespassing. Extortion. Swindling. Exploitation. Forgery. Defamation.” He paused. “Do you know what those words mean?”

Sabrina straightened and thrust her chin forward. “In four languages.” She enunciated the words. “Five if you count English!”

Kenilworth looked unimpressed. “They also mean that if you’re guilty, you’d go to prison or hang.”

Thunder boomed.

The thought sent a chill down her spine. Anger and frustration clashed. Clutching her reticule, she sought mercy in his cold eyes. They appeared like green ice chips. Afraid for the twins’ well-being, Sabrina pressed her point. “Milord, you might have reason to be suspicious, but I swear, I speak the truth. I used my savings to pay your bills. I’m in quite desperate financial straits.”

He frowned. “Would you give the money to a stranger?”

So the rumors were true. He distrusted outsiders. “No, but—”

“Nor will I. Now. Leave and I’ll forget this affair.”

At his dismissal, she heaved a frustrated breath but wouldn’t retreat. Her father, who had been a military strategist, said no one won a battle until one side stood alone. She wasn’t dead yet. She had no choice but to continue with her feigned strategy. “I’ll go straight to court.”

He pressed his face close. For a fleeting second, she noticed an emotion not spawned by arrogance. Fear?

“Really? If you’re telling the truth, who and how will you pay for a defense?”

Sabrina couldn’t seek more legal help for lack of funds and because of her false identity. According to her solicitor and the only other person who knew her secret, she would commit perjury if she used the Beaumont name. Now if she used her real name, her grandfather would find her again because of the publicity. Despite this, Kenilworth’s staunch refusal fueled her ploy.

“Maybe I’ll request that you pay the legal fees.”

“You want to use every opportunity to demand money from me, is that it?”

She pursed her lips. Perhaps he disliked the notion of settling in court. Could she goad him into paying her where honesty and reason had failed?

“Imagine the Times headline. ‘Earl of Kenilworth Cheats Poor Merchant.’ Now, that would be a scandal in these unsettled political times. Parliamentary reform has England in an uproar. The news would contrast with their recent portrayal of you.”

He stared at her hard, then rammed a hand into his trouser pocket. “An investigation should settle this matter. I’ll start with some questions and forward what I learn to my solicitor.”

Investigation?

A tremor skipped down her spine. What if he succeeded in revealing her heritage? What would happen to the twins?

Maybe answering a few questions would satisfy his curiosity. What choice did she have if she hoped to get the money? She said a quick prayer and asked forgiveness if she had to lie for the twins’ sake. “If I can answer them, I will.”

He nodded and slowly walked behind her. “You’re a couturiere? I’ve never seen one dressed in such plain attire.”

“I usually work in the back of the shop. Ledgers. Organizing the fabrics for orders. Why spend money on expensive clothes?”

When he snorted, Sabrina sensed his closeness and edged forward. Why did he cause her pulse to race? He had been so gentle with the filly. Though calmed by the thought and feeling no cause for alarm, she wanted to bolt off the barrel. Instead, she rose with her back straight. She felt like a rabbit running from a fox, all cunning, sleek and too sure of himself. How could she convince him he owed her the money without an investigation?

“Pray that you’re not lying. They hang people for lesser crimes than those I’ve mentioned. I’d hate to see a noose around that lovely neck.” With the crop, he traced an arc beneath her chin.

The smooth leather felt cold against her skin and caused gooseflesh. Sabrina had an irrational urge to pull up the collar of her cloak. His hooded eyes reminded her of a bird of prey scouting for its next meal. “Noose? I’d hate it more.”

Although he smiled faintly, his eyes remained cold. “Well, I don’t need the court to decide if a debt exists. Nor do I need them to order me to pay if it does. I’ll decide both issues based on my investigation. Justice, Miss Beaumont. I want justice.” He retraced the arc.

She touched the clasp at her throat. A rope...he was serious! Her palms grew damp.

“So, you intend to play a judge.” She batted the whip away. “Threats and intimidation won’t change the truth. I’m no simpleton.” Their eyes locked in a battle of beliefs. His shadowed jaw remained resolute, not a stubble of black hair moved.

“Are you a courtesan?”

Stinging warmth ebbed into her cheeks. She grasped her cloak to keep from hitting him. Recalling his insults, she said in French, “I don’t care if you’re the tenth Earl of Kenil-worth.” In Italian, she added, “You owe me the money.” She continued in Portuguese. “I’ll prove it!” With a flowering Spanish finish, she asked, “Is that clear?”

“Unusual. A couturiere more educated than most men I know. Who are you? What do you really want of me?”

Suddenly she realized her error. Anger had overwhelmed caution and she had revealed too much of herself. “The money.”

In French, he said softly, “Baizer moi, Sabrina.”

Her body grew hot from spinning emotions. Kiss me, Sabrina! “For six thousand pounds plus interest,” she replied in French.

“Really?” Kenilworth drawled.

“Well...”

His mouth curved into a baiting smile. “Well?”

As she considered the enormity of allowing him one kiss, she immediately berated herself. Perhaps his threats and speculations had been for naught but to somehow lead to this moment. Despite his handsome facade, she couldn’t kiss a man who thought so ill of her. She narrowed her eyes. “You can go to the devil.”

Thunder rattled the windows of the stable.

He shrugged. “You’re becoming more interesting by the moment.”

The whip’s rhythmic tap against his solid thigh reminded her of a drum in a death march. Rain pelting the roof created a chorus. She fought for a nonchalant look. “So are you.”

“What else can I learn about you, Miss Beaumont?”

What if he learned that she was the granddaughter of the powerful and wealthy Duke of Sadlerfield? Or maybe Kenilworth wouldn’t learn a thing. She had been born in Paris, and her mother had birthed the twins aboard ship and no records existed. When they arrived in London, Marga had lied to the minister at Wesley’s chapel. He entered her aunt’s name as the twins’ mother in his records. Sabrina had hidden the evidence of Alec’s heritage in a place no one would think to look. When her grandfather died, then she could take steps to help Alec claim his birthright.

Protect the twins.

“Depends what you ask.”

Chapter Two

Hunter regarded Miss Beaumont’s pale blue gaze, a fiery one that swept his face and stabbed his uncertainty. Innocent? Actress? He didn’t know, but her desperate and sincere tone gnawed at his conscience.

As thunder clapped, something nudged his leg. Startled, he looked down and suppressed a grin as the filly licked the end of his crop. “Still hungry? Go back to the stall. Your mother will get anxious if she can’t see you.”

“See to your animal, milord. Surely your questions can wait.”

Her soft voice caused him to glance up. Miss Beaumont’s piercing eyes had melted to a different emotion. Sadness? Panic? Damn his conscience. Quickly reaching for the filly, he guided her to the mare, now shifting with unease. With a few strokes, he calmed her, wishing something could settle him as readily.

Had his father found a way to leave Australia? Who else could or would impersonate Hunter? Had he coerced her into this scheme? Despite the cold panic knotting his gut, caution warned him not to speak of his father. Discussing him might lead to questions he must avoid, for in the legal world, he had committed a crime against the blackguard. Hunter had taken justice in his own hands. What could he do now? Leaning, he secured the stall’s rope closure.

“Ma chérie! The fool raced by me!”

Hunter whipped his head toward the stable door and quickly joined his guests. The intruder, a comely woman, curtsied. Water rolled off her hat brim and onto his boots as Miss Beaumont introduced them. “Oh, not an accomplice?”

Frowning, the newcomer fumbled through her valise as water dripped off the tip of her nose. “Monseigneur? What are you saying? Accomplice? Mon Dieu. Where is my handkerchief?”

Hunter reached into his frock coat pocket and offered his. “May I save you the trouble?”

“Thank you, sir, but I’ll give her mine. You might accuse us of stealing if we forget to return it.”

Shrugging, he tucked the cloth into his pocket. “A handkerchief hardly compares with six thousand pounds.”

Rolling her eyes, Miss Beaumont unbuckled her bag and snapped it open. “Marga, what happened? Please don’t tell me the mail coach left. Didn’t you wave?”

“Of course! I stood near the trees to stay drier. The idiot had his head burrowed into his collar like a turtle and never saw me. We’re stranded!”

As Miss Beaumont searched her bag, a gardenia scent drew his gaze downward. He caught a glimpse of a pistol. His pulse beat out of time. Had she come with dark intent?

Only one person harbored enough contempt to wish him dead. What if the debt was just a prelude of blackmail to come? Would Miss Beaumont use the gun as inducement? He watched her hands, but now she held a garment that might be a pair of drawers.

Although his concern that Randall might harm another innocent person continued to grow, the gun heightened his uncertainty and curiosity about Miss Beaumont. Why would she carry a pistol? Did someone threaten her? Who sent her? Who was she?

Rain pelted the slate roof and water gushed down the interior pipes into the horse troughs. Should he offer them shelter? As fast as the thought came, the words flowed. “You’ve missed the coach. Consider staying here.”

Briefly, Kenilworth wondered if, during the night, he would find himself facing a pistol. But his worry that they might be his father’s victims concerned him much more.

“No, thank you, milord. We’ll walk.” She pressed a handkerchief into her aunt’s hand.

As Madame Beaumont dabbed her face, she turned to her niece. “Walk to Edinburgh? We will drown!”

“His lordship refuses to pay us. I’ll not spend one night with that—” Miss Beaumont threw him a glacial look “—tyrant.”

His goading and authoritarian manner had not affected her in the least, yet to show a softer side would be disastrous. If he didn’t stay alert, her beseeching eyes could weaken his resolve. He whacked his thigh with the crop. “That’s nothing compared to what I can be if you’re lying.”

Madame Beaumont dried her brow then looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “Mon Dieu! Look at her young and honest face!” Cupping her niece’s chin, she turned it side to side.

“His imagination blinds him to all else. Isn’t that so, sir?” Miss Beaumont smiled thinly.

He arched an eyebrow. True, she possessed an innocent’s look, too young to let life harden her incredibly beautiful eyes, or etch lines on her porcelain skin. Her plaited mink-colored hair only added to her aura of youth. He had, however, learned to look past a lady’s appearance. Her connections and mind interested him more.

“First, I need to confirm your story and identity. Are you acquainted with a person who might do so? Someone of repute?”

Miss Beaumont chewed her plump bottom lip until she worked it to a rosy hue. For some reason, the chaste act seemed like something a child would do and stirred his watchful nature more.

Finally she looked up with her white teeth still gripping her lip. “Geoffrey Norton. He’s our solicitor.”

“Stay. I’ll send a message by ship to my man of business. With good wind, I might have an answer in a few days.”

“So you really plan to be judge and jury, milord? We decline your offer. I’ve no wish to visit with the executioner too.”

He narrowed his gaze. “The truth decides your fate.”

“I think monseigneur is very generous, ma chérie. We will accept his offer.”

Her pale blue eyes grew round. “Aunt Marga! An investigation might take longer. Investigation! We can’t afford—”

Madame Beaumont shook her head, and a look passed between the ladies that Hunter couldn’t decipher. “Monseigneur might use the time to reconsider. Especially when Geoffrey proves our story.”

Desperation flashed in her eyes, but she raised her chin a notch. “Considering my aunt’s condition, I might agree... if you promise to pay us before we leave.”

“No assurances, Miss Beaumont. Confirming your story and identity is a beginning. Questions regarding the debt require a deeper investigation. Your aunt’s right. I’m being generous. You could spend the night in prison.”

Her mouth opened and snapped shut. “I’ve no words to express your hospitality.”

He threaded his crop through his fingers. “Scots are famous for it. You’re staying?”

She glanced at his hands then looked up. Her dainty nostrils flared. “Only because of my aunt.”

“Wise choice.”

A short time later, his housekeeper ushered the ladies up the servant’s staircase. With his mysterious guests comfortable, he marched down the hall, which looked ghostly due to the sheets covering the furnishings. Miss Beaumont’s untimely demand irritated him anew and he yanked the covering off a Queen Anne side table. He threw the sheet onto another macabre heap.

As he entered his study, the air still smelled musty, but at least the housekeeper had cleaned this room before his arrival. His oak desk and worktables gleamed from beeswax. After removing his greatcoat, he threw peat bricks into the hearth and lit a fire. Within minutes, he penned a note to his solicitor.

Suddenly his foster brother, Gavin MacDuff, entered. A frown heightened the sun-etched lines on his face. Water matted his blond hair. Gavin’s rolled sleeves and smudged trousers reminded Hunter that he had promised to help unload the wagon.

“I worked and ye entertained a lass. Hardly seems fair. Now we’ve guests, I hear. What’s this about?”

“I wish I knew. I need you to take this note to London.” He folded and sealed the parchment.

“Now?” Gavin asked incredulously. “It’s raining! We’re supposed to be opening the castle. Hiring staff! What of me wedding plans?”

After handing him the letter to Jonathan Faraday, their solicitor, Hunter explained the situation. “You’re the best captain I know, and the only man I trust to do this.”

“Bloody hell! Fine time for Randall to concoct another scheme. We could wait. He might show his face.”

“No. You helped me! A kidnapper. You were the ship’s captain. I don’t know the punishment, but transportation comes to mind.”

Gavin drove a fist into the air. “I’ll strangle him myself if he ruins me wedding!”

Hunter shook his head. “I’ve already brought enough trouble into this house. If he reveals the reason he’s been in Australia, my esteemed peers might charge me with kidnapping. The Tories would embrace any chance to stop reform!”

Gavin let out a disgruntled sigh. “You think Parliament would take the case to trial?”

“I’ll not chance your life or my ruination.”

“What about the things he did to you? Were they not crimes?”

Hunter combed his fingers through his hair. “True. My word against his, and you’re my only witnesses. I doubt the law would heed an accomplice’s word. Even in a land full of criminals, Australia has a small fashionable society now.”

“Ye think he opened his bloody mouth and announced he’s the Baron of Wick? He’d risk his freedom to leave the estate!”

“Maybe he’s testing me to see if I would do as I threatened. Maybe he lied to explain his presence. He’s made me look like scum before. I must learn if he’s behind this debt.”

His friend scowled. “He’s always liked to play games, yer father. I’ll go, but watch yer back while I’m gone. This wouldn’t be the first time a desperate lass allied with the Sinner.”

Hunter lowered his face in his hands. “I’ve the worse feeling that he found a way to leave Australia. You’re the last person I want to hurt.” He pounded his desk. “Damnation! I should have found a better way to stop him. If asked, I’ll say I held a gun to your head, and demanded you sail my ship.”

“Nay! You’ll not lie to save me hide! Do ye hear me?” Gavin threw him a determined look. “In yer place, I would’ve done the same thing, and asked ye to help me.”

Despite his knotted stomach, the words warmed Hunter’s heart. “I would have agreed.”

Gavin moved forward and squeezed his shoulder. “As lads we pledged that we’re brothers, that we’d watch out for the other and share equal blame for everything. Don’t break our vow.”

“We were children!”

“Say it! No sacrifices!”

He swallowed the emotion that rose to his throat. “No sacrifices. Go now. May God be with you.”

After Gavin left, Hunter untied his cravat and leaned into his leather chair. For years, he’d rationalized his actions because he had prevented an offense against an innocent person. In doing so, he had committed a crime against a member of the peerage. He’d involved Gavin, a man with no title—although Hunter’s grandfather had raised him like his own—to help him. The thought reminded him of his mother and the loving way she had nurtured Gavin, too.

Hunter closed his eyes and tried to shake away the memories and dark thoughts. Short of another crime, he would do anything to keep his past buried. The questions remained. Had his father returned to London? If so, what did he want?

Yawning, Sabrina closed the door to her room and crept down the dimly lit hall toward the tower. Her head felt numb from worry and no sleep. She hoped the housekeeper was awake and would offer her a cup of tea.

In the turret, dawn’s light flowed through a small window and softened the stone staircase, one smoothed by time. The steps seemed to shimmer with history. Each step bore a slight indentation, proof to the numbers who had used them. With a light touch, she traced the curved wall and coolness kissed her fingertips. Even to her untrained eye, she knew the turret had breathed for centuries while the main section of the house boasted Georgian architecture.

For some odd reason, the heritage the turret represented mocked her situation. She missed the twins! Blinking away the tears, she continued down the stairs. Until the time was right, she must keep her and her sibling’s ancestry a secret.

If Kenilworth paid her when she left Keir Castle, the money would curb some worries. She hoped the messenger returned quickly. Lord, she needed the money.

As she reached the lower steps, she blinked at the surroundings. The staircase had spilled into the foyer and not the servant’s hall. She stared at the crystal chandelier that graced the domed entrance, the carved oak door and the sheet-covered furnishings. The appointments told her that riches filled the house, yet the contents didn’t matter. She was lost.

Due to her worries last evening, she had paid no attention to the route. She glanced behind her. Should she retrace her steps? Gooseflesh covered her arms. Suddenly she realized the earl might take offense to her wandering and she eyed the door. Maybe she could walk around the castle and find the rear.

“Going somewhere?”

With her heart pounding, she swung around. “I’m looking for the servant’s hall. Actually, I’m lost.”

Kenilworth leaned against the doorway of a room off the foyer. As he regarded her with a raised brow, he threw his frock coat over his shoulder and fingered his untied cravat. The motion drew her gaze to his throat, unshaven jaw and the exposed portion of his chest. Without his toilette, he looked... savage.

Suddenly a knock sounded and his lordship glanced at the door. “Early for callers. More of your friends?”

She produced a wry smile. “Perhaps just a traveler needing aid. If so, they’d do themselves a favor by looking elsewhere.”

“A man could shave with your tongue.” With long strides, he crossed the foyer and opened the door.

A servant dressed in indigo livery whipped off his hat. “Beggin’ yer pardon for the hour, milord. The Duke of Sadlerfield wants a word with the earl.”

Sabrina’s pulse raced. Her grandfather! He must have followed her! She had to leave. Grabbing her skirt, she climbed a few steps, but curiosity urged her to look to the door again.

“I’m Kenilworth.”

Stepping into view, the man dismissed the servant with a crisp nod. “Splendid. May I come in?”

Kenilworth gestured for him to enter. “Sadlerfield. I only know you by your politics. Did you come to sway my reform efforts?”

Sabrina climbed a few more steps, but a sudden need to see this man made her peek over her shoulder. Maybe he hadn’t come because of her. The thought didn’t calm her thundering heart. If she moved beyond the banister, the curved wall would hide her.

“That is a subject for later. Right now, I am looking for a young lady.”

No! Spinning around, she raced up the stairs. Despite his longer nose and leaner build, the man resembled her father, only with white hair and a determined set to his jaw. She had to alert Marga!

“A moment while I see to my guest. Miss Beaumont?”

Sabrina halted but didn’t turn. Only three more steps to the wall! “Milord?”

“Young lady! Come here,” Sadlerfield said.

Sweat trickled down her back. What could she do? Slowly she turned and managed an unaffected look. “Yes?”

“Sadlerfield, do you know Miss Beaumont?”

The duke let out a disgruntled breath. “Beaumont! One look and I know she is my granddaughter. Sabrina Barrington!”

Kenilworth’s dark eyes demanded answers. “Barrington, is it?”

Holding his gaze, she raised her chin. A powerful urge to deny her grandfather’s claim skipped across her conscience. Despite his discovery, a tiny part of her was glad she could emerge into the light and fight him. Maybe this was the reason she hadn’t run. However, this didn’t mean she would acknowledge him as her kin. “So what if it is?”

“One of you. Start explaining.” Kenilworth marched toward her. His steps resonated off the marble floor, bounced off the stucco ceiling. “Who’s it going to be?”

“In time, Kenilworth, but I will not discuss this matter for all to hear! Come down at once, young lady!”

For one second, Sabrina considered appealing to Kenilworth, but his cold gaze held no mercy. Where were the servants’ stairs? When she glanced over her shoulder, an iron grip captured her wrist. An indignant cry whispered through her lips. She tried to yank her arm from his hold, but Kenilworth’s large hand imprisoned her fingers. His breath, hinting of brandy, brushed against her cheek and filled her ear.

“This time, I want the truth!” Seizing her elbow, he escorted her into the room from which he had emerged earlier.

Her heart thundered. “Let go of me!”

“Sit!” He pointed to a leather chair and motioned Sadlerfield to take the seat beside her. Standing in front of her, he leaned against his desk.

“Undoubtedly, you have questions, Kenilworth. First, I must properly introduce myself to Sabrina. Look at me, young lady! I am your grandfather.”

Her line of vision ended at Kenilworth’s taut stomach and broad chest, one that vibrated with anger. She trembled and laced her hands. Shifting her gaze to her grandfather, she suddenly realized he had remained silent during Kenilworth’s tirade. Was that a look of satisfaction brightening his blue eyes? She pursed her lips. In that moment, she didn’t know which man frightened her more.

To hide her emotions, she summoned her most insolent manner. “Have I passed your examination, your grace?”

“Quite. You have your father’s eyes. I will not go into the reason you have avoided me these past years. Not seeking me out and avoiding the meeting I requested conveys your feelings. However, I did spend considerable funds searching for you.”

How much did he know? Despite the dread that threatened to steal her breath, she managed an unaffected facade. “A waste of money, I assure you, but I’m curious. How did you find me?”

He placed his ebony cane between his legs and rested his hands on the gold knob. “Bank clerks receive little recompense. That is irrelevant now.”

“Bribery! How dare you!”

His eyes gleamed. “My men informed me that you came to Scotland. One sailed with you. So, of course I had to follow.”

She fought for a steady voice. “How long have you had someone trailing me?” Guessing she would run, he had undoubtedly completed his plans before he approached her. Had he found the twins? What horrible fate did he plan for Marga?

A white eyebrow rose. “A very short while. I needed time to decide the best course for your future. Dashing off to Scotland changed my plans naturally.” He shifted his gaze to Kenilworth. “She stayed the night here. You realize her reputation will be in ruins if society learns.”

Kenilworth’s eyes turned hard. “I offered her and her aunt shelter from the storm. Don’t make anything more of my generosity.”

Refusing to consider the dark thought that blew through her mind, Sabrina willed her pulse to calm. “Your grace, I came here about a debt.”

“I know you are in financial straits. Your bank account and closure of that shop are proof.”

What else did he know? To hide her concern, she slapped her knee. “Did you hear that, Lord Kenilworth? Surely, you’ll believe the duke. The debt put me in my current position.”

“Odd. Despite an obvious estrangement, you embrace his words. His affirmation doesn’t mean I’ll pay you.”

“But now you have proof of my story and identity!”

The earl’s black eyebrows snapped together. “Do I? That was before I learned your real name. You lied.”

She bit her lip. “Barrington doesn’t suit a couturiere. Beaumont is French. You know the English relish Parisian fashion.”

“Trade!” the duke scoffed. “We will discuss that and your finances later. Your reputation concerns me more. Already you have sullied it by dabbling in commoner’s work.” Her grandfather turned to the earl. “I must speak to you alone.”

“If this conversation concerns me, I’m staying.”

“Kenilworth. Put her somewhere.”

“Wait in the secretary’s office.” The earl looked at her hard and pointed to a small room off the study.

When she remained in her chair, his arm shot out. Strong fingers captured her hand. She tried to dig in her heels as he pulled her across the room. “This isn’t fair!”

“Right now, I don’t care what you think.” He dragged her inside and retreated quickly.

“Lock her inside, Kenilworth.”

To her dismay, he did as the duke ordered. As she pounded on the door, she pressed her ear to the wood, but the thick oak muted their voices. She squeezed her eyes shut. Imprisoned like her mother! As old stories emerged, hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

When Sabrina’s father had refused to abide the duke’s demands, her grandfather stealthily created circumstances to make the English government believe her mother was a French spy. He even pretended shock when the authorities arrested her as a war criminal.

Worst of all, the powerful duke did nothing after Thomas’s barrister father saw her in jail, nearly dead from starvation. She hadn’t fit into the duke’s plans. He had used his power to keep the affair quiet. Thank heavens for Thomas. He and her father had managed to smuggle her mother out of jail.

The black recollection reminded Sabrina of her own situation. How long would Kenilworth keep her imprisoned? Fear and anger mutated to determination. She ran her sleeve over her damp cheeks and vowed to never show any weakness or let her grandfather rule her life. His cunning had ruined her parents’ lives, and she’d not forget his strength on this score or forgive his sins. He had indirectly killed her parents. Cursing, she kicked and pounded on the door.

What were they talking about?

Chapter Three

Hunter curled his fingers around the key and slowly turned. He could not shake the disturbing feeling that the duke had planned his arrival, early hour and all. “What do you wish to speak to me about?” Behind him, the doorknob rattled and pounding followed.

The duke looked at the door and then threw him a dispassionate glance. “She stayed here with you. You are a bachelor.”

“Her aunt chaperoned.”

“Was she ever alone with you?”

Hunter threw Sadlerfield his darkest look. “I haven’t touched her, but I can’t vow for her innocence.”

Sadlerfield pounded his cane on the rich carpet. “Do not be insolent with me, young man. Now, tell me about yourself. Start with the time you left Oxford until your recent return.”

Surprised, Hunter glared at the duke, but to learn the answers, he sensed he must comply. As he rubbed the key between his fingers, he spoke about his years in India where he owned a sapphire mine. He discussed his plantation in Barbados and included every unconventional business maneuver he had ever employed. “Satisfied?”

“Almost. You left out your little trip to Australia.”

Hunter gripped the key and managed an unaffected facade. What kind of game was he playing? “A good businessman should always see to his interests. Why shouldn’t I see to my warehouses and estate?”

“I know about those, too. I am a good friend of Australia’s governor.”

Hunter planted his fists at his waist. “Why ask me anything if you know the answers?”

Sadlerfield straightened. “I am just confirming the facts. A man of my years and experience assumes nothing. You will do.”

“For what?”

“To marry Sabrina, of course.”

The key dug into his flesh. “You’re out of your mind.” He said the words, short and succinct.

Sadlerfield’s chin rose. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The duke’s shocking demand stirred a question, one that seemed improbable. “You want an heir? Go look for a stupid buck! Did you plan the debt? Did you force her into a situation so she had no choice but to come here?”

When the pounding continued, Hunter glowered at the door. Despite her beauty, a wife was the last thing he wanted, and an impertinent, lying chit only made matters worse.

Sadlerfield remained stoic. “Outrageous. I am merely a concerned guardian who spent years searching for my only kin.”

“You left out planning and scheming.”

“If I have, so what? She was still here. A man of my position must assure the title will continue. Why allow such revered heritage to revert to the Crown?”

“I refuse to marry her.”

“I think not. You transported your father against his will. The governor conveyed that amusing story. A man in his cups can tell a great deal.” The duke’s blue eyes gleamed.

Hunter forced a harsh laugh. Did Sadlerfield know all? “You believe a drunken man’s tale?” he asked in an icy tone.

“Whether I do or not is irrelevant. The governor believes it. However, he has more sympathy for you than he does your father. The fact remains, if you do not marry Sabrina, I will ruin you. I will tell the world what you did.”

The blackmail fueled Hunter’s anger and he searched for ammunition against the duke’s well-planned assault. Yet, like a man who held bad cards, he had to try to deceive his opponent. “My father has a tainted reputation. No peer will take his side.”

“Society might not believe Lord Wick. However, they would believe me if I conveyed the tale. Are you willing to chance it?”

Hunter stalked to the hearth. “Bringing a Sinclair into your family could sully the Barrington name. Is that what you want?”

“If I ignore Lord Wick’s despicable reputation, your lineage is satisfactory. Besides, linkage to the Barrington name will improve your social standing. The connection might even help you in Parliament. What is your answer?”

Hunter understood the threat. Marry the wench or suffer personal and political ruination. He slammed his palm against the stone mantel and wished it were the duke’s face. He had no choice. “Damn your pompous hide.”

“I gather that means yes?”

“One day I’ll see you in hell for this.”

A corner of the duke’s mouth rose. “My felicitations.”

“Don’t expect me to ask for her hand.”

Sabrina kicked the door. “Let me out of here!”

Now she could truly understand the reason her mother had begged her to hide the twins, having aptly described the duke. Sabrina would do anything to keep them from this cold, ruthless man! His heartlessness alone would kill her brother.

As metal grated in the keyhole, she stepped back. Suddenly the door slammed against the wall. Kenilworth’s piercing look could splinter rock.

For a second, she stood paralyzed, but rage and pride forced her chin up. “Move aside, milord!”

“Enjoy your moment of freedom,” he drawled, and stepped away.

She stomped past him but suddenly realized the men were glaring at each other. Warily she looked at her grandfather.

He held her gaze with unmoving eyes. “I am by rights your guardian and have arranged for your future.”

Horror rocked her heart. “I’ve managed on my own.”

“You are the granddaughter of a duke. I control you.” He slanted a glance at the earl. “That is, until you marry. Sabrina, meet your intended.”

His words hit her like a hurricane, at once stealing her breath and fueling her anger. She jabbed her arm toward the earl. “Him! Never! I refuse to marry to him!”

“Don’t dream that I’d ever ask for you.” Kenilworth scanned her with cold eyes.

She let out a deep breath at the earl’s refusal, but simultaneously his rejection tweaked her pride. The humiliating situation was the cause, wasn’t it? “His lordship and I agree. We don’t want to marry. We don’t even like each other!”

“It is what I want that matters. You will marry him. You stayed here, and he has agreed to do the honorable thing!”

Kenilworth sneered. She could feel the anger emanating from him, sense his restraint, see the fury hardening every muscle. Like a cornered animal about to pounce, he seemed suddenly...primitive. He walked to the hearth, planted his hands on the mantel and stared at the cold ashes.

Sabrina couldn’t explain her sudden compassion for the earl, a victim like herself. “Your grace. You can’t insinuate that he compromised me. He didn’t.”

The earl slapped the mantel. “When do you want the marriage?”

Surprised that he would relent without a fight, she twirled around. He had held his ground about the debt. “Milord! Are you a coward? If we both refuse, he can’t force us!”

“Well, he has.” Fury burned in his eyes.

Sabrina pursed her lips. Her grandfather must have somehow threatened to use his power, just as he had persecuted her mother. This thought didn’t ease her tumultuous emotions. “Really, milord. I expected you to give a better fight.”

“Oh, he tried. You will marry within a month. I’ve a paper that will secure a license.”

Kenilworth marched toward the duke. “What paper?”

Her grandfather reached into his tailcoat pocket.

She jabbed the air with her fist. “A month! Never!”

Keeping his eyes on her, the duke started to hand the paper to the earl. “Is that shop important to your aunt?”

Sabrina threw him a vicious glare and grabbed the paper. “Just like you to take away our livelihood!” As she read the letter, her hands began to shake. I will help you in any way regarding the personal matter we discussed. William Howley, Cantuar. “You went to the archbishop!”

Kenilworth snatched the paper from her hand and read. His jaw worked. “So, you paved a path to God just to see your granddaughter married,” he drawled.

“I will do anything for a male heir. The Barrington name must continue.”

She knew his title and deeds to property came from Norman times. By royal decree, the lands were entailed and the deeds stipulated that only a male heir could inherit. Yet, out of this mess, Sabrina felt a ray of hope. The relief made her limbs weak and she sank into a chair. She was certain—well, almost sure—that the duke had not learned of Alec’s existence or he wouldn’t have planned her marriage...that is, unless he knew about Alec’s poor health and wanted a spare heir.

What could she do? She glanced at Kenilworth, whose dark look didn’t invite camaraderie. A niggling thought rooted deeper. Even her grandfather couldn’t force a man like Kenilworth to do anything unless the duke had some power over him. Perhaps her instincts were right. Dark, wild and powerful emotions inhabited the earl’s soul, something primal and untamed. She could not imagine being married to the man, who didn’t want her anyway.

Suddenly a thought came to mind. Perhaps she could turn the disaster to her advantage...and help the ead, too. “Kenilworth? May I speak to you alone?”

As Hunter closed the door to the small office, he stood with his back to Miss Barrington. He grasped the knob.

He knew now that the duke had long considered a union between him and his granddaughter. Damnation! Had Sadlerfield investigated every eligible peer? Of the lot, he must have the darkest past. Lucky him. Obviously he was the person most likely to succumb to blackmail and still meet Sadlerfield’s requirements.

Curious, Hunter turned, but cursed himself a thousand times for even considering her innocence and welfare. She appeared to dislike a forced marriage, too, but she was still a liar. His measure of kindness made him angry with himself. When would he learn?

“I should have had the authorities take you to jail. Neither of us would be in this fix if I had. I vow this, Miss Barrington. You’ll never make a fool of me again.”

Straightening, she slid her palms down her skirt. “That was never my intent, milord. I only omitted a slight detail, but because I’ve used the Beaumont name for a long time.”

He snorted. “I wonder. What else you have excluded?”

“Nothing important to you, milord. The reason I asked to speak to you should help both of us.”

“You’ve sparked my imagination again. What do you want, Miss Barrington? A grand affair with jewels as a wedding gift? Forget it. You’re not getting a thing from me except my name.”

She chewed her bottom lip. “I only want one thing from you, sir. Unless you agree, I won’t marry you.”

He narrowed his eyes. That innocent thing she did with her lips wouldn’t make a fool of him again. This announcement shouldn’t have surprised him but it did. Sadlerfield had made his position clear. Total ruination. Even if he didn’t consider his own survival, he had to think about Gavin’s life, and the lives of his workers in Barbados. Many were counting on his efforts in Parliament to help free friends and family members who toiled on other plantations.

“We don’t have a choice.”

“I think you agreed only because he knows something about you. I’m sorry he used such coercion. I won’t question your actions if you don’t ask me mine. My terms, sir. I will refuse to speak the vows...unless you give me a bank draft for six thousand pounds.”

“That is a separate issue.”

“The money or no vows.”

He stepped closer. “You’re a scheming little wench.”

Sabrina swallowed hard but remained rooted to the floor. “I’m sorry you feel that way. If you consider everything, I’m helping you. You’re in some kind of trouble. Without my vows, you’ll be in a real fix.”

The determination in her eyes and the tilt of her chin told him she would do as she said. Damnation! He had no choice. “Blackmail. It must run in your family.”

Her dainty nostrils flared. Looking away, she eyed the bookshelves. “I’m only asking what I’m due. Keep your fancy wedding. The show would only be a farce. Why give the duke such satisfaction?” Her voice quavered.

With her back turned, he didn’t know if she experienced a spurt of anger or remorse, however, he did appreciate her low regard of the duke. “Of course, why should we?”

Slowly she moved to the wall and fingered a book. “Will you accept my condition?”

Hunter pulled his frock coat from his shoulder and retrieved his leather pocketbook. Walking to the desk, he found a pen and ink. After a second’s pause, he drafted a banknote. If he accomplished nothing else in his life, he vowed he would learn everything about his bride-to-be. Rage hit him in the gut. He was about to enter a loveless marriage, one that could easily resemble his parents’. The reality left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He walked up behind her. “The money, Miss Barrington.” Turning, she pinched the banknote, but he didn’t release it.

Panic flashed in her eyes. “Aren’t you going to give it to me?”

“We’ve a deal. You set the boundaries, and that includes more than saying the vows.” He released the banknote.

“What do you mean?” Folding the draft, she tucked it into her pocket and then looked up.

“Let me refresh your memory.” Planting his hands on the books, he bracketed her.

She moved backward, her heels clicking against the oak shelf. “What are you referring to?”

“Baizer moi, Sabrina...for six thousand pounds.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What? That discussion has nothing to do with this!”

Leaning a little closer, he caught her gardenia scent. “Oh, I disagree. You’re a scheming liar. Show me you can keep your word.”

She frowned and suddenly she tilted back her head and closed her eyes. “Kiss me then and be quick about it.”

Lowering his mouth, he brushed his lips across hers, but her rigid posture challenged his pride. Surely he could get some reaction from her. After all, she would be his wife...a cold, stony one. This thought urged him on, and he kissed her again, this time pressing his body against hers. Suddenly her closeness and soft lips stirred his base needs. Her gardenia scent aroused all his senses more. Although he cursed himself for reacting, something inexplicable made him want to taste her sweetness again. As he deepened the kiss, she let out a mewing sound and her lips quivered beneath his. Her lips began to melt, mold against his.

Suddenly a knock shook the door. Deliberately Hunter continued to kiss her and lifted his head long enough to bid the intruder to enter. He captured her lips again.

“Good God! What are you doing?” the duke roared.

Hunter raised his head, felt a small fist grind into his midriff. Giving her a cold look, he backed away. He could never let either of them know that the kiss had affected him. “Sealing our promise to wed,” he drawled.

“Barbaric! Nonetheless, your display does not surprise me. You both come from parentage with lust in their veins.” The duke shook his head. “However, your natures will give me an heir sooner.”

Her piercing blue eyes flashed from the duke to him as she tried to sweep past them. “I must go speak with my aunt.”

The duke held up his hand. “You are not leaving. We must discuss your finances. I cannot have you embroiled in a scandal now. Once you wed, I will settle them for you.”

She slid her hand into her pocket. “No need, your grace. Aren’t husbands responsible for their wives’ debts?”

Despite her faults, her refusal revealed an admirable trait. Hunter could even admire her spirit, but he had let compassion overrule caution, an act that led to this moment. “She should come to me with no debts and a dowry.”

Using the duke’s money for himself or her dowry wasn’t what he intended. He had plenty of his own. Instead, he could use the funds to help the Scots, and that would irk a Tory. The compensation seemed a small price for losing his freedom. He knew the man would use Hunter’s past as control, but only in private. In public, the duke would never tarnish the Barrington name.

“Yes. On the up-and-up. Say, one hundred thousand pounds?”

“Two hundred thousand.”

The duke arched a white eyebrow. “Fifty thousand after you wed and one hundred fifty when you produce me an heir. After your display, I have no doubt that you will do so quickly. Furthermore, I expect you to turn Sabrina into a befitting countess.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Curious about her silence, Hunter looked down at his bride-to-be. Pink washed her cheeks. However, he didn’t know if she was angry or anxious about the marriage bed. A pang of guilt nudged his conscience for kissing her the way he had, and giving Sadlerfield reason to speak so bluntly.

“Of course it is.” The duke turned to his granddaughter. “I will also give you funds to see to your personal needs.”

Her frigid gaze swept from her grandfather to him. “If it’s money that spurs you to this agreement, you should have bargained harder, milord. He will pay any price to get an heir.”

Pride and anger collided. Hunter could and should defend himself, but he wouldn’t Let the minx believe as she wanted. No man had a pristine past. He refused to live his life under the continued threat of blackmail, and thus must learn of their weaknesses. With the marriage a month away, he had time to consider his approach to an unwilling bride. Slowly and deliberately, he skimmed her length. “I’m sure I’ll get my money’s worth.”

Chapter Four

The cool air numbed Sabrina’s cheeks and the earth crunched like thin wafers beneath her feet. Occasionally a drift of Scottish mist brushed the black landscape and a cloud shuttered the light of the moon. Despite the desolation, she and Marga headed toward Edinburgh. “Do you think they’ve discovered we’re gone yet?”

Marga hurried her stride. “Monseigneur never considered we would use the servant’s stairs. A man too sure of himself. After checking on you twice, he might have left you to pout.”

“Pout! I still can’t believe they bargained over me as if I were a horse!” Nor could she forget Kenilworth’s angry kiss, one that branded her lips and stirred an odd sensation in her stomach. Just thinking about the encounter renewed the tingle.

“A month we must wait for your wedding? Ha! My little ones will think I abandoned them.”

As they walked in silence, tears pooled in her eyes, but Sabrina refused to let them fall. Her mother always said a rainbow followed a storm. The squall that had killed her parents left her three rainbows—the twins, and money her father pushed into her bag at the last moment. From that tragedy, her shop had emerged. Where was her rainbow now?

Do what you believe and follow your heart, not what others want you to do. Those were her father’s last words. When she was sixteen, Sabrina tucked away his sage advice; now, the words fed her purpose. She had promised her mother she would guard the twins and nothing would break that vow.

To keep her word, Sabrina needed a thriving shop. But it was more than a livelihood. No other employment could give her independence, something she required because of the twins. Now they must start anew. At the thought of her bleak future, a chill tunneled to her bones and eroded her confidence. She summoned her strength, and, with an effort, she considered the immediate future.

“Are you all right, ma chérie?” Marga shifted her valise to the other hand. “If you curse monseigneur or your grandpapa, I’ll not mind. I might spit a few choice words myself.”

Sabrina managed a smile. “If Alec’s health is better, should we move to France or back to South Carolina? The French population in Charleston was vast enough to shield us before.”

“I detest the idea of running and hiding. Poor Derek. Your father spent every spare shilling on legal fees. In the end, Thomas paid the remaining balance and loaned your father money, too. I do not want to find myself beholden to another as Derek was.”

Sabrina frowned. “Father never told me he was indebted to Thomas.”

“You were a child. Revealing your grandpapa’s perfidy was hard enough.”

Now Sabrina understood that her father’s dream to start a shipping business wasn’t the only reason he had wanted to return to England. Honor and repaying a debt were important to him. Her heart ached. Deaths. Debts. And Kenilworth.

Fury burned inside her. “I detest Lord Sadlerfield.”

“With reason. Now I worry he will discover the twins aren’t mine. They resemble you.” Marga looked at her with sadness in her eyes. “Alec’s health might force us to stay in England. If so, you must marry monseigneur. Then we pray your grandpapa will not poke his nose into my life.”

“If nothing else, I need time to learn the truth. Lord Sadlerfield blackmailed Kenilworth into the marriage.”

“Oui? How will that help us now?”

“Kenilworth paid me the debt money so I would marry him. Maybe if we learn his secret, he’ll reconsider.”

“Ma chérie! Blackmail him into removing his offer?”

“I don’t recall him proposing.”

“You intend to ask Geoffrey to help us?”

“Of course. Kenilworth had the audacity to investigate me. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Use the money monseigneur just relinquished to pay Geoffrey? We need that in case we must flee.”

Sabrina smiled. “Lord Sadlerfield offered to fund my personal needs. I consider an investigation a personal need.”

“Très bien! Learning his secrets might be a way to keep you from marrying! You have your uncle Philippe’s blood. He too was clever in his work as an intelligence officer.” Marga let out a disgruntled sigh. “If we do not learn what monseigneur is about, you know what you must do.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

A distant rumble caused Sabrina to tilt her head. She grabbed Marga’s elbow. “Listen! Horses! Quick! Down the brae!”

They rushed down the slope until brambles stopped their descent. When Sabrina pushed the branches aside, the thorns punctured her hand. She bit her lip to stifle a cry. Quickly she and Marga passed through the opening.

As they lay belly down, Sabrina smelled the moist earth, and the vibration of thundering hooves rattled her insides. Kenilworth or highwaymen? Sabrina rummaged through her valise until her skin touched the cold steel of her pistol. Foreboding constricted her lungs. Although Kenilworth’s banknote and every shilling she possessed lay in the bottom of the bag, she almost wished the horses belonged to thieves. When the pounding of the earth ebbed, Sabrina expelled a long breath and relaxed her fingers.

“Soyez tranquille. I did not live through Napoleon’s war to die now. We will get home safely.”

Marga’s brave words calmed Sabrina’s thumping heart. “I’ll try not to worry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Mon Dieu! We are family! We take care of our own. After Philippe died, marriage no longer bound me to your parents. Where would I be without your father’s support? I would have starved during the war. Derek’s generosity is something I will never forget.” Standing, Marga grabbed her umbrella and valise.

They returned to the road and continued to walk. Sabrina rotated her shoulders to ease the ache in her arms, but the thorn impaled in her left hand continued to throb. Every discomfort reminded her of Kenilworth. If he had paid her immediately, the duke might not have found her so quickly or put the twins in a vulnerable state. At least she wanted to think that were so.

Although she feared Kenilworth or her grandfather would search and eventually find her, she wanted to prolong, even prevent that fate. Her own welfare and the twins’ aside, she worried about her aunt. Would he harm Marga? When Sabrina envisioned the duke supplying twisted evidence for an imaginary crime, she lengthened her stride. Her spinning emotions urged her toward the twins.

As they approached a bend in the road, plodding hooves broke the silent night and banners of mist veiled the rider’s identity. Her heart jumped. Quickly Sabrina looked for a place to hide, but the flat land dotted with birch trees dimmed her hopes. Her pulse raced. After retrieving her double-barreled pistol, she placed her thumb on the hammer but hid the weapon in her cloak’s folds.

A heartbeat later, she sucked in her breath as Kenilworth and a coach emerged from the mist. Panic, followed by anger, shot through her veins. He stopped his horse in front of them, and the coach, adorned with glowing lanterns, pulled up next to him.

Kenilworth straightened. “Well, Miss Barrington, going for a stroll? Or did you forget the agreement we made?” His tone was very dry.

“I changed my mind. I refuse to marry you.” She moved her hand to her side.

“Miss Barrington...” He gazed at the pistol in her hand. “Put that bloody thing away before you hurt someone! The last thing I need is for you to blow a hole in your foot.”

Tumbling emotions turned her blood hot. Yes, she even wanted to experience a touch of revenge because he had insulted her integrity and, in part, ruined her life. His actions threatened those she loved. Irrational thought overcame sensibility.

She wanted him to experience the loss of control and helplessness she felt. With a tight grip on the pistol, she summoned her darkest look. “We’ve left your property. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re still on my property. Now put that gun away and get in the coach. We have a deal.” He started to dismount.

“Mon Dieu! Are you deaf? She does not want to marry you!” Using her umbrella, Marga speared his swinging leg.

Kenilworth glared at her aunt and then tied the horse’s reins to a birch tree. When he turned, he stared at the pistol she aimed at his stomach.

“I’d at least wait until after our marriage. You’d be a wealthy widow.”

She motioned with the weapon. “I’ve no intention of even being your bride. Now, move and let us leave.”

“If you point a gun, you’d better be prepared to use it.” With unblinking eyes, he stood erect. Hands on his hips. Legs apart.

Sabrina held his gaze and knew his rigid stance was a dare. She couldn’t shoot him. Deep in her heart, she knew she would eventually have no choice except to marry him. Until then, she refused to relent.

Aiming the pistol to Kenilworth’s right, she pointed at a lone birch. “Don’t move, milord.” As she lowered the hammer, his body stiffened. “Now, look to your left. Should I try for the left or right branch?”

“To your right. It’s farthest from me.”

Gritting her teeth, she focused and fired. Wood crackled and snapped. Birds squawked. She smiled, feeling an odd satisfaction. Somehow, the act replaced the dignity Kenilworth had stolen.

“Luck,” Kenilworth murmured, eyeing the severed branch.

Feeling the challenge in his single word, her blood started to hum. With her arm raised, she sighted the other branch, but the fluttering of his greatcoat cape caught her eye. She shifted her gaze to just below his waist and adjusted her aim.

“If that’s where you want to shoot me, go ahead.” He didn’t budge.

“Ma chérie! You proved your point!”

Sabrina ignored her aunt, cocked, shifted her arm and fired. Marga shrieked and the horses neighed. The air smelled of singed wool. The reality of her act reached her conscience. What if he had moved? What if she had shot him there? Blood rushed to her head and her hand shook. Despite this, she couldn’t let Kenilworth see her despair or guilt and reached for words of bravado.

“I wanted to clip your wings two minutes after I met you.”

Without examining the shredded tip of his cape, Kenilworth shortened the distance between them. His gaze held hers. A triumphant look made his eyes gleam. “Now, your gun’s empty, and I won’t need to worry about your life.”

The telling sign in his eyes scorched her like lightning. He’d used mockery as a trick not a challenge. Instead of pruning his arrogance, she’d boosted it. The blow grated her pride and added to her careening emotions, but she clung to her bravado. “How do you know I won’t shoot you next time?”

“You had the opportunity and didn’t. Just in case, give me the pistol until you cool your temper.” He held out his hand.

Quickly she hid the weapon behind her back. “You don’t own me or my possessions yet, milord.”

Despite the huge difference in their size and social class, Marga rapped Kenilworth’s arm with her umbrella. “That is ma chérie’s only weapon! Besides me, of course!”

“What are you going to do? Spear me again with your umbrella?” Kenilworth glowered.

A click sounded. “I could do more than that, monseigneur!”

Startled, Sabrina glanced at the winking knife that protruded from the umbrella, and she quickly searched her valise for her bullets. A knot formed in her throat. She knew Kenilworth would force her to go with him. Tears threatened to fall.

“Madame Beaumont, how clever. So, you too carry a weapon. Give it to me.”

“I will not! This was my husband’s umbrella! I have little of his but this.”

After muttering a curse, he thrust his hand in the air. “Keep the blasted thing!”

Sabrina glanced at Kenilworth, who turned and marched in her direction. A tear rolled down her cheek. As she pawed deeper into her valise, her fingers finally found the bullet pouch. Too soon, he stood beside her.

“What? Tears?”

Slowly Sabrina lifted her gaze. Was that concern or mockery in his eyes? The angle of his head shadowed his face so she couldn’t tell, but displaying weakness was unwise in this arrogant man’s presence. Still she needed a reason for her damp eyes. “I have a thorn in my hand.”

“Annoying varmints, aren’t they? I’ve just experienced a few myself. They’ve a knack of working themselves deeper.”

A second passed before she realized he’d called her a thorn. Perhaps he considered himself one, too. “We should both heed what we touch then, shouldn’t we?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Now that you’ve spent your anger, are you ready to return to the castle?”

His faint conciliatory tone didn’t soften her stance and if she agreed to return with him, she would admit defeat. “No.”

Kenilworth’s black brows snapped together. “I don’t like this situation any more than you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you going into the coach willingly, or do I throw you inside?”

She took a step backward. “Don’t touch me.”

“Do you realize I could charge your aunt with assault? Would you like to see her in jail?”

“You wouldn’t!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Try me.” His tone exuded confidence.

Sabrina swallowed hard, knowing how horrible jail would be and that the twins needed Marga. He’d faced a bullet and remained adamant about their marriage. Perhaps she could escape again. Carefully she put her pistol back in her valise. “I should have shot you in the chest.”

“You had the chance and...missed.”

Her fingers itched to prove him wrong. “Your puffed-up chest makes a broad target, but a bullet wouldn’t have done any damage.”

“You don’t consider a hole in my flesh a serious injury?”

“I would have aimed at your heart, but you don’t have one.”

He jerked his thumb left, then right. “Which direction, Miss Barrington? The castle or the authorities in Edinburgh?”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe I’ll continue my stroll another time.”

“Not without me, you won’t.”

Taking their valises, he escorted them to the coach and opened the door. A figure loomed inside. Every muscle in her body tensed.

“Good evening, Sabrina,” Lord Sadlerfield said, and turned to the earl. “Well done, Kenilworth. My granddaughter obviously has her father’s temperament.”

Sabrina pursed her lips. “I’m proud of the comparison.”

Her grandfather looked at Marga, and Kenilworth quickly made introductions. “So you are her kin. Madame Beaumont, you will stay until after their wedding. First to serve as witness and second to prepare Sabrina for the consummation.”

Given the duke’s stoic composure, Sabrina couldn’t tell what he knew about her aunt. She prayed he knew nothing but couldn’t take the chance. “Your grace, if I must marry him, you should at least let me decide the place. I choose London.”

Marga grabbed Sabrina’s hand. “Monseigneur. Your grace. I have responsibilities in London. My shop and children need my attention. To stay another month is impossible!”

“You have a servant watching your whelps,” the duke replied dismissively.

“I can’t let her travel alone.” Sabrina’s heart stopped but she held her grandfather’s stony glare. How much did he know? She prayed that he didn’t see through the excuses. All they wanted was to return to the twins. The shop’s future was as nebulous as her own.

“Young lady, after your act of defiance, I have decided you will wed within three days.”

Two days later, Sabrina stood outside a tiny brick chapel on the castle’s grounds. To the side, a cemetery lay with neat rows of headstones but she could almost hear her pounding heart amidst the serene setting. Behind her, the Sadlerfield barouche squeaked and footsteps approached. Marga dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her grandfather wanted the ceremony to begin.

Tears crowded Sabrina’s throat. “Even in my worst nightmares, I didn’t imagine things happening this way.”

Marga straightened. “We will talk after the ceremony. I have an idea that might ease the situation a little.”

The reassuring words lifted Sabrina’s spirits. “You always know the right thing to say.”

As her grandfather moved beside her, he nodded to his footman to open the door. The hinges creaked and stale air hit her in the face, further reminders that this affair would hold no cherished memories. Terror lodged in her throat. As the only guest, Marga entered, her merino wool gown stirring the dust on the floor. She wiped the bench with her handkerchief and sat.

Sabrina fought the urge to run, but the duke took her arm and escorted her toward the altar, dark for the unlit tapers. Seasons of grime stained the windows and the dim light painted the interior gray. The brightest thing inside was the preacher’s shiny head.

Her knees threatened to buckle, and her uneven stride echoed off the wood beneath her feet. Near the altar, Kenilworth stood erect. The pale light failed to hide the grim set of his jaw. He stuck a finger down his snowy cravat as if it were too tight. Considering the surroundings, his white linen shirt and ebony frock coat of superfine looked out of place.

The occasion didn’t deserve finery. Sabrina touched her white pelerine collar and simple gray wool gown with pride. When she met Kenilworth’s dark look she shortened her stride. Nothing or no one had prepared her for this moment or what might follow.

Lord Sadlerfield handed her to the earl then sat. When she hesitated to place her fingers in Kenilworth’s, he pinned her with a black look. She slapped her hand against his broad, warm palm. The instant his long fingers curled around hers, she recalled the power they possessed. With only pride to rely upon, she thrust out her chin. She couldn’t turn back.

Leaning toward her, Kenilworth smiled, but darkness clouded his eyes. “I take it you’ll say the vows with the same intensity,” he whispered, and tucked her hand on his arm.

“With the same sincerity as you will.”

He turned to the clergyman. “Do the shortest version, sir.”

The preacher’s eyes darted from bride to groom. “Yes, milord.” He cleared his throat. “Sabrina, will you have this man...”

Their hollow words resonated off the stone walls. Within minutes the ceremony ended. In that second, she realized he had failed to give her a wedding ring and sensed the blatant omission was a protest. Despite the forced marriage, the lack of a ring galled her.

“You may kiss the bride, milord.”

Something urged her to deny him, and Sabrina stepped back.

Kenilworth seized her hand. “I think I will.”

Suddenly he pulled her close, crushed his lips over hers, and that same odd sensation made her stomach chum. His clean-scented clothes heightened her senses. As his mouth grew softer, her mutinous body arched against his hard form. Warmth seeped across her skin, but when she realized she was returning his kiss, she snapped her head back. He was only kissing her for the audience and punishing her for her slight.

“That’s enough, milord.”

“My dear countess, that’s just the beginning.”

She stared into his green eyes, ones that glittered with dark promises. “Beginning?” The word came out a whisper.

Planting his broad hand on her back, he urged her up the aisle. “I made a devil’s bargain with Sadlerfield. I accepted your scheming deal and made a vow to God. Do you know what that means?”

She licked her dry lips. “No.”

“I’m your husband. You’re my wife. As distasteful as that is to you, I intend to see you play the role well. A perfect countess. Is that clear?”

“I’ve no experience.”

A slow smile matched the promise in his eyes. “I intend to teach you. Everything.”

She shivered. “Dare I ask for specifics?”

He laughed.

The echo of Kenilworth’s mocking laugh still rang in Sabrina’s ears. “Marga, this marriage is going to be awful. He’ll be here any minute. I’m sure he’ll want to consummate the union.”

As Sabrina conveyed Kenilworth’s demand, she paced her new bedchamber, one that adjoined his. She moved around her Queen Anne dressing table, slid her finger over its mahogany surface. Taking several steps, she planted her hands on the back of the wing-backed chair where Marga sat. Sabrina wrinkled her nose at the wallpaper. Peacocks. A male with his pompously fanned tail hovered over a hen, it reminded her of Kenilworth.

Suddenly a tremor rippled through her. He exuded overpowering maleness, which caused her stomach to flutter during his kiss. Then as now, she dismissed the urge to examine the feeling. More important things needed her attention.

As she stared at the rose-patterned carpet, Sabrina realized her words had drifted into silence. “I must think of a new plan. I can’t stay married to him.”

Marga gasped. “We agreed you must do this for the twins.”

Moving around the chair, Sabrina faced her aunt. “Remember we considered investigating Kenilworth?”

“Oui. Blackmail him. What good is that now?”

“Blackmail is an ugly word. Consider this! If we learn his secret through an investigation, he might consider an annulment.”

“What about your grandpapa? He will never allow it.”

“If I can convince Kenilworth, we could keep our plan secret. Once I reach my majority, Lord Sadlerfield loses his legal right to dictate my life. My birthday is just a few months away.”

Marga tapped her nails on the brocade upholstery. “Then you must think of ways to stop him from bedding you.”

Heat crept up her neck. “This is what you planned to tell me?”

“Oui, you might avoid the act until you know him better. It might not seem so distasteful to you then.”

Loath to admit it, his kiss was anything but unpleasant. She frowned. “Why is that?”

“Not all women enjoy coupling. At least he is an attractive man. Once you acquaint yourself, you might find pleasure in sharing a bed. Did you forget the Times? They said he was a good man.”

“Shabby reporting! Probably not a word of truth!”

“Possibly, but he did not ask for this marriage. You cannot fault a man who tries to turn a bad situation into good.”

Sabrina snorted. “I want to return to London, speak to Geoffrey and at least consider an annulment. What if Kenilworth happens to meet the twins?”

“I doubt he will pay much notice. Your grandpapa is paying him money to produce an heir. His interest will be bedding you.”

She pressed her palms over her ears. “Don’t remind me! I can’t give the duke an heir! Unless I reveal Alec, the babe would usurp my brother’s rights.” Yet, when she considered lying next to Kenilworth’s hard form, the odd tingling sensation returned. She disliked her body’s reaction. Sinking onto the bed, she ran her hand across the emerald velvet counterpane. “Can you think of anything to keep him from me?”

“Your monthly. A headache. Inebriation.” Marga grimaced. “They are the usual excuses, but he will know what you are doing. If an annulment is the goal, you must invent new reasons.”

“I’ll think of something. Surely we can return to London before I run out of excuses. Then I’ll ask for Geoffrey’s help.”

“Pray your grandpapa never learns what we are doing.”

She groaned. “A chance exists to nullify my marriage. I want to explore the idea at least. What if Alec’s health is better? We have money now and could leave! I can’t do that if I’m married.”

“You have a point. I wish we could take the twins far away from here. A place where your grandpapa would never find us.”

Sabrina’s heart ached, for she and the twins had never been apart. Suddenly she realized how much she took for granted—their incessant chattering and their rebuke of authority. She missed their cherub smiles and bright blue eyes, Alec’s mischievous nature and Christine’s thoughtful demeanor. She also worried Alec’s health would worsen. “Do you think they’re all right? Do you think they miss me? I don’t like being separated from them.”

“Nor I. I miss them, and they are too young to understand if we are absent too long. With the ceremony over, we can finally return to London.”

A knock sounded on the adjoining door.

Sabrina started and wrung her hands. As she looked at her bare fingers, an idea burst forth.

Chapter Five

Gripping the brass doorknob, Hunter knocked again. He glanced at his bed, a massive structure sitting atop a dais, anchored by four turned posts. Gold satin ropes secured the blue velvet drapes that hung from the canopy. No one had ever slept in his bed but him.

Fury burned his insides. Why did he bother knocking? She belonged to him, bought and paid for with his life. No one blackmailed him without punishment. If he were noble, he would thank God for sparing his life and turn his cheek, but he didn’t believe he could. He refused to be a stone beneath Sadlerfield’s feet. Or his wife’s, either.

When no reply came, he cursed. This was his home. She was his wife, and he intended to make Sabrina his in all ways.

He had no choice.

Hunter kicked the door and it bounced against the wall.

“Your lordship!” Sabrina spun around, her hand still on the outer entry.

As he leaned against the doorway, he crossed his arms over his chest. He gave her a casual perusal, one intended to stir his interest more than anything, but to couple under the duke’s command seemed to stifle his base needs. Pushing away from the portal, he stepped into the room, one smelling of gardenias. He eyed the two crocheted buttons at her throat and walked toward her.

Her arm shot out and she took a backward step. “Wait! We should discuss our, uh...situation.”

There was nothing to discuss. She’d blackmailed him and used him for target practice. If circumstances had been in her favor, she would have run from the altar. What was she up to now?

“Anything your aunt didn’t explain, I will.”

Panic flashed in her pale blue eyes, and the determined angle of her jaw put him on alert. “We didn’t start our relationship in a good way. I’d like to feel better about us before...”

“We seal our vows?”

Pink spread across her cheeks. “Yes.”

Pausing, he picked up the bottle of perfume from her dressing table and sniffed the heady scent. “What do you have in mind?”

She let out a long breath. “When we spoke the vows, we were both angry. I want them to...mean more.”

Hunter laughed harshly. “You want to hear endearing words? We’ve one purpose in this marriage. To give your grandfather an heir.”

“A ring might help. I don’t feel that we’re quite married.”

Disbelieving her quiet words, he slammed down the bottle. “You’ve my name. That’s enough. Don’t expect me to spout Lord Byron’s romantic prose or give you sentimental baubles.”

She cast him a solemn look. “Won’t people wonder about my lack of a ring?”

“Don’t use society to blackmail me into giving you a trinket.” Unfortunately, she had a point. With long strides, he closed the distance between them. He reached for her hands, studied her blunted nails and long slender fingers. They trembled in his palm, but he didn’t know the reason. Her skin was rougher than he imagined, and something made him look at her palms. Calluses scarred each, suggesting she hadn’t led a pampered life. He checked his thoughts. Feeling sorry for her had gotten him into this mess.

With his thumb, he rubbed a circle on her third finger. He dropped her hands. “The last time we made a deal, you ran with my money.”

She flashed him a look that appeared to be regret, but then blossomed into desperation. “A little impulsive on my part. Only because my aunt needs to return to her children.”

A man with half his wits could lose himself in her incredibly beautiful eyes, but he had his faculties and disliked caving in to her demand. Moreover, if he refused, he would never learn what she was thinking... or scheming. “Even if I wanted to postpone consummating our marriage, that’s impossible.”

“Have you no compassion? We’re strangers. Is it that easy for you to bed a woman?”

“Do you want your grandfather standing over us? He promised to do just that if our sheets are clean. Would you like an audience?”

She flushed crimson from her cheeks to her neck. “Of course not.”

When she lowered her head, Hunter thought she would succumb, but then she jabbed her fist in the air. He caught her wrist, but she twisted it from his hold.

Fury blazed in her eyes. “Impotent! That’s what you are! If you were man enough to stand up to him, you’d think of a way to avoid this! You don’t want me any more than I want you.”

The accusation hit his gut like a lead ball and whipped his temper like nothing else she’d said or done. He quickly realized he disliked her rejection of him. After all, he possessed a title and wealth. Considering the situation, what more could a lady want? She might think he was doing nothing to strengthen his stance, but hell if he’d tell her his plans. He glared at her hard. “So you think me impotent, do you?”

She bumped up her chin. “Yes, I do.”

In a lightning movement, he clamped his hands around her shoulders and crushed her lips with his own. Her sweet taste beckoned. Abruptly he released her. She took a gulping breath of air. He couldn’t let her soft lips lure him beyond his anger. With a swift flick of his wrist, he yanked her collar off her shoulders. Her eyes grew wide. The crocheted buttons bounced on the floor. “Get undressed. When I come back, you’d better be in my bed.” Turning, he opened her door and slammed it behind him.

Hunter flew down the stairs, grabbed a lantern from the foyer. When he opened the door, Gavin stood on the other side.

“Bloody hell! Where are ye going?”

“To the conservatory.” He motioned Gavin to join him and asked what Jonathan had learned. His solicitor had confirmed what Sadlerfield told him, but would need time to investigate the debt and Sabrina. In turn, Hunter explained the events during Gavin’s absence.

The moonlight revealed Gavin’s grim look. “Blasted! Ye sacrificed yourself. Why are ye going to the hothouse? Ye should be talking your scheming bride into bed.”

“Looking for a red dye.”

Gavin’s blue eyes widened in understanding. “Ooh. Wouldn’t it be simpler if ye just pricked your skin?”

“They’ve already stolen my life. Why should I give her my blood? Besides, that smacks of honor, and the last thing I feel is noble.” Impotent! He snarled.

“Ye’ve the right. Just take her.”

Hunter’s blood ran cold. “A willing bride appeals to me more. If a few days will make her more agreeable, I won’t have to live with guilt. Besides, I want to find out what she’s planning. She ran away, and now seems almost...biddable.”

“Aye, something doesn’t quite ring true.”

A few moments later they entered the conservatory. A rush of hot, humid air, smelling moldy and fragrant, hit Hunter in the face. The housekeeper cared for his mother’s flowers, but they still looked neglected. Nostalgia wrenched his heart. How often had he watched his mother tend her plants and explain which ones provided good dyes for her paints? Shaking away the memories, he scooted around the wooden benches. Now wasn’t the time to bask in her warmth.

“Damnation. Do you remember which one had sap that resembled blood?” Hunter scratched his head.

“Bloodroot?”

“Yes. Help me find the damn thing.” As Hunter searched and pinched, he realized he’d accumulated a nosegay.

“Found it!” Gavin handed him the pot.

Taking the sprigs, Hunter added them to his bouquet. “She wants Lord Byron. She’s going to get him.” He paused. “I plan to give her a well-deserved lesson.”

Kenilworth was torturing her with his absence. Sabrina sensed she would pay for her impulsive words. Would he demand his rights as a husband? She glanced at her cotton nightgown, one with ribbons lacing the front. With trembling hands, she tightened the bow at her neck.

She’d never seen a man in such an angry state. Beneath his fury, passion simmered. The taste of him lingered on her lips and made her tremble again.

She had no choice.

Without a doubt, she knew Lord Sadlerfield would hover over them as they...

Closing her eyes, she willed away the horrid image of such a spectacle. If she agreed to the consummation, her...husband might let her return to London with Marga. She had to believe he would be more agreeable once they finished the union. Dread and anticipation dampened her skin. She’d try to talk to him first. If all else failed, she would succumb.

Slowly she entered his bedchamber, which smelled of his clean scent. She glanced at his bed, rising like a blue sphinx in the room. Sheraton furnishings carved from mahogany graced the room. Stopping in front of a cheval mirror, she regarded her nightgown again. One powerful grip and he’d split the cloth from neck to toe. The image sent a tremor down her spine.

A creak in the hallway made her dash for the bed. She burrowed beneath the covers, and with only her nightgown hugging her, she searched for her rainbow. Unfortunately, nothing surfaced amid her surroundings. Kenilworth’s clean scent clung to the bedsheets, a clear reminder of the man who could, with a touch or word, send her senses and emotions into a whirlwind.

Suddenly the door swung open and a mixture of fragrances filled the room. Stifling a cry, she pulled the counterpane to her chin. Kenilworth’s flash of white teeth glowed brighter than the sconces lighting the room. She clung to the sheets.

“No need to look like a mummy.” Closing the door, his gaze traveled from her feet to her hands and then to her face.

“The air’s chilly.”

“We’ll warm the bed.”

She forced herself to breathe. “I want to wait to consummate the marriage.”

“Let’s see if I can ease the situation.”

“Does that mean you will?”

“I brought you some flowers.” With a light step, he strolled to the bed and presented her with a courtly bow.

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Plucking a flower from his hand, he tucked it behind her ear. “Let go of the sheets.”

When she ignored his command, he yanked the bed linens and dropped them at her feet. Alarm shot through her as she covered her bosom with her hands. A corner of his mouth curved. As he sat, his hips pressed against her thigh, their clothing forged a bridge between their flesh.

Fighting for a calm look, she tried to scoot away, but he planted his left hand on her other side. “Why did you bring me flowers?”

He placed the bouquet on his lap. After selecting a carnation, he stuck the stern through a lacing hole of her nightgown. “I’ve always liked it when a lady smells sweet.” He bent and sniffed.

His face was so close to her breasts that she knew one movement would cause them to meet. She dared not breathe, but his warm breath filtered through her gown and a prickly sensation moved across her skin. When he straightened, she drew a quiet gulp of air. “Do I look like a vase yet?”

A slow grin broke the angled lines of his jaw. “Not quite.”

She pursed her lips. “Why are you decorating me in flowers?”

“Smell this one.” He pulled a lily from his lap and waved the petals beneath her nose.

The heady scent thickened the air around them. Taking her hand, he wrapped her fingers around the stern and held them in place. He brought the flower to his nose, looked down at her with half-lowered lids. Trembling, she desperately tried to hide her fear.

Releasing her hands, Kenilworth put the bouquet on the bed, then shrugged out of his frock coat. He tossed it onto the floor. Belatedly she realized that he no longer trapped her, and slid a good foot away from him.

He untied his cravat and threw it on the sheets. “Keep going. You’re in the middle of the bed. I need a little more room than that.” He eyed the space between her and him.

Her pulse soared. “Milord, you’re exercising your rights?”

Sitting, he pulled off his boot and the mate followed. “You haven’t moved. I’m coming to bed.”

Angst mutated to anger and she punched his back. “Answer my questions! I’ve a right to know what to expect from you!”

Flinching, he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “I could say the same of you.”

He padded to the fireplace and threw in kindling and peat. Flint grated and flames crackled to life, sending another sweet scent into the air. Moving from the lantern on his bureau to the one atop his secretary, he blew out the flames in each.

Sabrina captured a calming breath. She’d never lost control before, and this man possessed a powerful aura that sent her emotions careening. His lithe movements resembled a predatory animal stalking a fledgling.

He moved to the sconces. “Would you put out the candle on your side table? I’ll get the one on my stand.”

Glancing to her right, Sabrina grimaced as she moved. Her weight crushed the flowers. She put out the candle, but after laying down the snuffer, she curled her fingers around the silver candlestick. For one second she considered crowning him on the head. Suddenly she experienced a pang of guilt. He’d brought the flowers as a peace offering. Hadn’t he?

“Don’t even consider it.”

“I’m trying to curb my impulses.” Turning, she reached for the flowers beneath her. When she brought the destroyed bouquet to her nose, she drew a sharp breath. Red liquid covered her fingers.

“Did you enjoy our consummation?”

Slowly she realized what he had done. She should have been grateful. “You lout! Letting me believe you were going to do it.”

With an unreadable expression, he crawled into bed. “I might yet. Can’t say what will happen between now and morning.”

She whacked him with the bouquet. Petals flew like leaves in the wind. “You’re cruel! This wasn’t funny!”

He grabbed her wrist, held her gaze with stony green eyes. Their breath came short and hot, stirring the clove scent that hung between them. His clasp made her fingers go numb. The flowers dropped on his chest.

“Cruel? You want to know what that would be? I’d have ripped off your gown and not prepared you for anything.”

Warmth invaded her flesh followed by another surge of guilt. She didn’t fully understand his words, but his harsh tone said enough. He could do anything he wanted. He owned her. Resentment bubbled anew, and she had to force a conciliatory smile. “You’re right. Let’s talk about something else.”

Releasing her hand, he looked down on his flower-covered chest. Swipes of red and green stained his shirt. “About what?”

“Have you booked passage for our return to London?”

“I’ve arranged your aunt’s. My friend Gavin will escort her.”

“You have friends?” The second the words flowed, she wanted them back. She didn’t want to rile his temper again.

The muscles in his neck tightened. “Go to sleep.”

Slowly she gathered the flowers off his chest, taut as a board. “What about us? Why can’t we return to London with Marga? She’s the creative one. I’m the one who manages the business side.”

“You don’t own the shop anymore. I do.”

As his words slowly registered, anger burned her insides. By marriage law, her share of the shop now belonged to him. He was controlling her life. “What do you want with a dress shop?”

“The records. Someone swindled me out of six thousand pounds. I think I should know the source of the debt. Don’t you?” His eyes turned as hard as granite.

Deuced. He was a man who didn’t like to lose, and she’d blackmailed him. “I can’t change your mind about London?”

Taking the bouquet from her hand, he dropped it on his side table. “No, but unless you go to sleep, I might change my mind about consummating our vows.”

She dropped back. “Will the flowers work? Are we safe from my grandfather? Why did you do this?”

“I’m emulating Lord Byron.”

Chapter Six

A group of stevedores walked between Sabrina and Kenilworth. Chains and winches groaned as workers hauled sails and moved crates for shipment from Leith to their destinations. Welcoming the intrusion and din, Sabrina grasped Marga’s hands. “You’ve Kenilworth’s banknote?” she whispered.

Tears filled her aunt’s eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. “Oui. It is unfortunate your grandpapa insists on remaining here for Mr. MacDuff’s wedding. I dislike leaving you alone with the duke and monseigneur, but I have no choice. The twins need me more. Do you have qualms about our plan?”

She slid Kenilworth a surreptitious glance. “No. When you and I came to Scotland, we discussed the side trip. Your request will have merit. Go. Ask him now.” Sabrina urged Marga with a nudge.

Kenilworth was speaking to the blond man named Gavin, Marga’s escort. When his lordship had introduced them earlier, the captain had been coolly polite. She wouldn’t find a friend in him. Behind them, the schooner Priscilla bobbed in the water and that ship would take her aunt to London. Sabrina hoped they’d not encounter rough weather. She planned to write Geoffrey so he could make her the twins’ guardian, just in case Marga died at sea. She swallowed hard, unwilling to consider the dark thought. They must plan for accidents, too. With linked arms, she and Marga closed the ten paces between them and the men.

“Monseigneur. I have a favor to ask you before I leave.”

Kenilworth glanced down with unreadable eyes. “What is that, Madame Beaumont?”

“The delay in Scotland has prohibited me from going to Dunfermline. I had planned to purchase some linen there. Would you be kind enough to take Sabrina?”

“Today if possible. We’ve lacked a supply for over a month because of our—” Sabrina’s throat closed “—predicament.”

“Monseigneur, I must open my shop, and I haven’t the goods I need.”

His green eyes assessed her aunt’s face. “I don’t know if I should allow you to resume business. Did you forget the debt and records? My solicitor intends to look at them.”

Sabrina stepped in front of her aunt. “Look here, sir. My aunt was—is the most sought after couturiere in London. The shop makes money. Don’t you care about your investment?”

He surveyed her from head to toe. “I’m looking at it.”

With fists clenched, she forced a conciliatory smile. Yes, he owned her, too. “The events of the past week have been trying. Consider the request. ”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “All right, Madame Beaumont. I wouldn’t want your niece to think I’ve no mind for business. We’ll get your cloth.”

“Merci, monseigneur.” Her aunt had the grace and foresight to bow her head.

Sabrina let out a huge silent breath. “Thank you.” Showing appreciation couldn’t hurt, especially since she needed him to trust her just a little for her plan to work. “May we go today?” Suddenly she realized she sounded too anxious. “We’re already at the docks, and Dunfermline is just across the firth.”

He nodded curtly. “We’ve an errand in Edinburgh first.”

A few moments later, Sabrina waved to her aunt. Already air filled the sails, resembling giant pillows against a gray counterpane. The air smelled of rain. As the storm that had killed her parents unfurled in her mind, a prickling sensation inched down her spine. No! Everything was her grandfather’s fault. They wouldn’t have been at sea had it not been for him. Dropping her trembling hand, she whirled away and hurried toward his lordship’s coach.

Although Kenilworth was on her heels, she beat him and the driver to the door. She yanked it open. Plopping down onto a leather squab, she laced her fingers tightly. “Let’s attend your business.”

“No curiosity about why I agreed to take you to Dunfermline?” He slid into the seat across from her and eyed her steadily.

“Your affairs are your own.”

“I only agreed so we’d have some time together.”

Sabrina’s blunt nails dug into her hands.

Hunter’s long, heavy stride kicked up amber leaves. He and Sabrina walked down Edinburgh’s Princes Street where well-heeled citizens observed the gardens and entered fashionable shops. Smelling faintly of Scotch whiskey, the air teased Hunter’s nose, and, despite the early hour, he considered indulging in a tankard of ale himself. Yet, he didn’t dare. The letter she just tried to post would have been a bullet to his gut. He still couldn’t believe she would pursue an annulment behind his back.

Now, besides preserving his own hide and Gavin’s, he also needed to stay alert. Hunter thought he had passed the worst moment of his life by entering into an unwanted union. Taming her was his mission...that and to investigate her and Sadlerfield’s past. He wanted to gain the upper hand. The person who caused the debt weighed on his mind, too, as did his father’s whereabouts. Dissolving the marriage never entered his mind. He should have learned from her past actions.

Sabrina’s recent deed in the goldsmith’s shop proved she’d continue to defy him, thwart his intentions. Planning his caveat pumped his blood. He tightened his hold.

Just when they reached his coach, a little boy ran beside them. “Milord! Pansies fer yer lady?”

Hunter’s heart twisted, sending a thick lump to his throat. Gooseflesh riddled the lad’s exposed arms, and his toes curled and flexed against the cobblestone walk. Drooping violets provided a color relief to his faded garb.

Hunter released Sabrina’s arm. “Take the flowers.”

She threw him an uncertain glance, then accepted the bouquet. Pausing, Sabrina looked down at the urchin who appeared no more than half-a-dozen years old.

Reaching into his pocket, Hunter retrieved a handful of shillings and pressed them into the lad’s upturned palm. “Find some warm clothes and a cobbler. Winter will arrive soon.”

The boy beamed, and his amber eyes turned round and shiny as the coins. “Thank ye, milord!”

Sabrina brushed the child’s cheek with a trembling hand and her eyes glistened with tears. Suddenly Hunter saw her as just a woman with a tender soul, and something odd tugged at his heart that further stoked his sympathy. Looking abashed, the boy made an awkward bow and dashed away.

When Hunter moved to take her arm, Sabrina’s letter to Norton rustled in his pocket. He straightened, suppressed his emotion for the child, for the unnamed feelings her tears evoked. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her upright. How could he be so stupid as to show his compassion? He forgot Sabrina’s keen eyes and quick mind.

Hunter helped Sabrina into his coach and it dipped as he seated himself. The interior quickly captured the mingled scents of gardenias, violets and rich leather He rolled up the shades.

Sabrina adjusted the skirt of her dark brown traveling gown and gave him a wavering smile. “You were very kind to help him.”

His jaw worked. “I purchased the flowers to get rid of the lad. Don’t make my act into anything more.” He nodded toward the violets she still held in her hand. “You wanted romantic baubles? You have them. Flowers and that ring on your finger.”

As she hit the leather seat with her fist, the violet petals flew helter-skelter. “More cynicism? Isn’t one jest on me enough?”

“Perhaps when you quit fighting our marriage.” From the pocket of his gray frock coat, he removed a missive. “Slipping the goldsmith a letter to your solicitor? Do not try to contact him again. Is that clear?” He threw her a piercing look.

Mutiny glimmered in her eyes. “My father told me never to submit to a man’s demands unless I agreed with them in my heart. I cannot wear this ring.”

“No more foolishness like this. No more ideas about annulments.” He held the letter she’d written to her solicitor.

She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “The missive wasn’t just about that. My aunt has...children. If something happened to her, we needed to arrange for my guardianship.”

“Nothing will happen to her.” As they passed St. Giles tower, Hunter ripped the letter into shreds and tossed it out the window.

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